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The Witch of Ridingdale 


BY 

REV. DAVID BEARNE, S.J. 

v\ 


ILLUSTRATED BY T. BAINES 


New York, Cincinnati, Chicaiio 

BKNZIGKR BROTHERS 

PRINTERS TO THE HOLY APOSTOLIC SEE 


190V 


LIBRARY of CONGRESS 


A A 
^ A 


Copies Received 

DEC 19 *906 


Copyright Entry 
^cc. ffi. /</ ct> 
CLASS ^ XXc., No. 

/L 3 5"a-3 


COPY B. 


CHARLIE CHITTYWICK. By Rev. David Bearnh, 
SJ. Handsomely bound in cloth. 85 cents. 


A book for boys and girls. 

A book for grown-ups. 

THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE. By Rev. David 

Bearne, S.J. With many illustrations and handsomely 
bound. 85 cents. 

RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW. By Rev. David 

Bearne, S.J. With man^^ illustrations and handsomely 
bound. 85 cents. 

“There is no doubt that Father Bearnt hits the style that boys 
love.” 


Copyright, 1906, py Benziger Brothers. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


• HE Witch of Ridingdale 7 

Lance in Request 35 

Lance’s Loss 63 

Lance’s November Plot 79 

Lance and Mrs. Praggit 91 

The Colonel’s Party 105 

Lance’s Naughtiness 119 

Lance’s Circle 155 

Lance’s Rose of Joy 165 

Lance’s Opportunity 177 

Lance’s Difficulty 189 


I am a chronicler of little things — 

Comings and goings, children’s words and ways, 
Chance guests, new hosts, and single happy days. 

And household legends. These have been the springs 
Of much of my best knowledge : I have striven 
To make my . . . world a glass 

Where shapes and shadows, like a breath, might pass, 
Dimly reflecting motions out of Heaven. 


Faber, 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 



THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE. 


** Fm scared, I am fhaf, Mester Lance ; I tell you. Her’s a 
witch, that’s what owd Miss Bess is. Her can put things 
on yer what yer canna tek off agin.” 

Lance stood on the snow-covered high-road, looking the 
picture of comical scorn. Jack Barson, the grocer’s new 
errand-lad, had put down his basket, and was telling his 
very real fears to one who could scarcely suppress the word 
“ Coward ! ” and who found ‘‘ Rot ! ” somewhat inadequate. 
Indeed, several more or less uncomplimentary remarks rose 
to Lance’s lips as he stood there kicking the snow and 
stamping his foot, and listening to Jack’s story of the poor 
eccentric old maid to whose house he had been sent with a 
basket of groceries. 

How can you be such an assf ” burst forth Lance, 
driving the heel of his clog into a piece of ice on the road- 
side. “ Why, Miss Bessie is as harmless as my sister’s 
doll.” 

“ It’s all very well,” began the big lout of an errand-lad, 
picking up his basket and putting it down again — “ All 
very well when yer ’avna got to go theer yerself/' 

Lance looked up so suddenly that Jack stepped back an 
inch or two. He had once experienced — not so much the 
weight as the lightning-like swiftness of Lance’s small hard 

7 


8 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


fist. To-day, however, Lance kept his hands in his pockets. 

“ Mean to say I daren’t go ? ” he demanded sharply. 

‘^Nobody likes to go,” replied Barson, evasively; it did 
not pay to quarrel with Master Lance. Moreover, there 
was a lingering hope in the youth’s mind that the Squire’s 
son would accept the half-challenge. 

'' We’re not talking about Nobody,” Lance rejoined. 
“ Do you think if I were sent to Miss Bessie’s I wouldn’t go 
like a shot ? ” 

“ I dunna think you’d — - — ” He was going to add, 
“ like it,” but Lance had already seized the basket, and was 
stepping out. 

D’you go to the front door or the back ? ” he asked 
sharply. 

'' Dunna go to either. Fred Cook says you’ve got to 
’ammer at a winder — t’ one on t’ left-’and side o’ t’ 
door.” 

Legends innumerable clung to the house that stood back 
from the high-road, and was more than half concealed by 
unlopped trees and overgrown shrubs — indeed, a wayward 
and neglected growth of everything that had once made up 
a garden of loveliness. It is certain that a lonely and a 
loveless life was lived beneath Miss Bessie’s roof. She was 
now a woman of sixty, or thereabouts — so said William 
Lethers, whose knowledge was ample, and whose calcula- 
tions could be relied upon. Thirty years ago a young'er 
sister had lived with Miss Bessie, and there were many 
people living in Ridingdale who could remember the shock 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


9 


of the report of her death. She had left her bed at mid- 
night, and had gone down to the river. On the following 
day her body was found close to the boat-house belonging 
to Ridingdale Hall. Rumour said this and gossip said 
that : the one certain fact was that she was found drowned. 

Lance had heard the story, and as he passed through the 
rusted gates that led over weed-grown flag-stones to Miss 
Bessie’s house, he thought of the suicide, and shuddered. 
Safely and discreetly. Jack Barson had not only remained 
outside the grounds, but had withdrawn himself some dis- 
tance up the road. Lance was going to interview the 
mad sister of a suicide — going alone. The most charitable 
in Ridingdale spoke of the old lady as being out of her 
mind. For generations the family to which she belonged 
had shown symptoms of eccentricity that certainly bordered 
upon insanity. 

Before Jack Barson explained the mode of making Miss 
Bessie “ hear,” Lance had heard of the method — remem- 
bered it indeed, in greater detail than the errand-lad had 
mastered. To knock at the front door was to court silence 
and failure. To go round to the back was to come across a 
locked and bolted door that barred the way to the kitchen- 
yard. Through the left-hand window, and through that 
only, would the poor lady receive her bread and milk, her 
tea and sugar, and even her coals. A regular ritual had to 
be gone through before she would appear. Three taps on 
the window-pane meant milk; three knocks on the sash 
meant coals. A knock and a tap were required from the 


lo THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 

butcher — he came but once a week — and a shake of the 
well-bolted sash was permitted to the baker. Strange and 
casual errand-boys knocked and tapped and shook the sash 
as the fancy took them. Many a lagging lad made long 
waiting outside Miss Bessie’s the excuse for his dilatoriness. 

Snow lay deep beneath the windows: no broom had 
touched the pathways. Lance’s clog-irons made patterns 
upon the untrodden whiteness. Apparently no one had 
visited Miss Bessie that afternoon ; but then, Lance reflected, 
it had snowed since dinner-time, and the fair white carpet 
had just been spread afresh. He trembled a little as he 
tapped on the pane ; but, as he explained later, it was a very 
cold day. 

Three several times he told himself that he was not in 
the least frightened. He hummed a tune and was not 
cheered by realizing that he had hit upon the “ Mistletoe 
Bough.” Trying to change it into “ Good King Wences- 
laus ” — somehow, he failed. Then he tapped several times 
upon the window-pane, and kicked a little loose snow from 
his clogs. After an interval of blowing into his hands — 
strange that he had not felt the cold very much until now — 
he shook the window-sash with some vigour. He told 
himself that it was the standing more or less still that made 
him shiver so : perhaps it was. 

He could see enough of the interior of the room to be 
convinced that it was not an apartment that was used — 
saving perhaps as a means of approaching the window. It 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


II 


was fireless, to begin with, and looked both cheerless and 
damp. Shreds of paper hung from the only wall he could 
clearly see. Some Georgian chairs stood stiffly against the 
wall, and a shut piano of antique shape, an instrument that 
might have been mistaken for a cupboard with pink silk- 
covered doors, attracted his notice. Within the house there 
was no sign of life or movement. 

The patience of the average boy has its limitations. 
Lance did what other boys had done under similar circum- 
stances — he tapped and knocked and shook the sash. 

‘‘ If she doesn’t come soon, I shall put the parcels on the 
ledge and leave them there,” he said to himself. Then he 
thought of two things. The groceries belonged either to 
old Rup or to Miss Bessie. Could he say that he had 
delivered them if he left them lying on the window-stone? 
Secondly, Jack Barson was waiting for his basket — wait- 
ing also to know how he (Lance) had fared with Miss 
Bessie. To tell Jack Barson a lie would be an uncommonly 
ugly thing. All very well to say, '' It’s only a venial ; ” 
but then — there are venials and venials. 

Moreover, he, a gentleman by every right and title, 
would have to tell this lie to a — no, that was a forbidden 
word at Ridingdale Hall, unless the circumstances were 
quite exceptional and peculiar. Doubtless there were people 
in the world who deserved the name of cad. They were 
not necessarily errand-boys. Once, and only once, he had 
heard that word fall from his father’s lips, and it had been 


12 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


spoken sorrowfully rather than bitterly. And it was ap- 
plied to a man who had been at Eton and Oxford — a 
man who deserved a much harder title. 

Clearly there was nothing for it but to wait and brave it 
out. It was just the waiting that Lance objected to. It 
was getting near the end of the Christmas holidays, and 
he had gone into Ridingdale to buy a paint-brush that 
George badly wanted. Returning, he had overtaken Jack 
Barson. Jack was a donkey, of course, with his tales of 
witchcraft and “ things put on you can’t get taken off.” 
“ But I’m a bigger donkey still,” Lance told himself, “ not 
to mind my own business.” He thought of some lines in 
Hamlet — a passage that he had once had to write out 
ten times after doing what Laertes is expressly warned by 
Polonius not to do. If Lance had only given Barson his 
ear and not his voice; however, ‘‘being in,” as Polonius 
puts it, he must bear it. Here he was and here he must 
stay. And here too was Miss Bessie. 

Through the dirty glass Lance saw her open the door 
with great caution, enter the room and walk towards the 
window. For a space she stood there quite motionless — 
looking down upon him. It was an uncanny experience. 
The thought crossed his mind that if she shut her eyes her 
face would look like that of a dead woman. She was gaunt 
and thin and bloodless. Her lips were tightly compressed, 
but though she frowned somewhat Lance could not help 
thinking that after all she was not so very ugly. His ex- 
perience of witches was a purely literary one: anything 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


13 


less like a story-book witch than Miss Bessie he had never 
imagined. It was years since, in the course of a walk, 
she had been pointed out to him by a nurse, and ou that 
occasion the small Lance had seen very little beyond a big 
poke bonnet and a blue shawl. 

As she raised the window-sash to its full height, Lance 
braced himself to speak. Removing his cap he faltered 
something about ‘‘ these from the grocer’s.’' 

‘‘Put your cap on, child,” was Miss Bessie’s greeting; 
but all the time she was looking at him with keen curiosity. 
He said afterwards that at first he thought she was trying 
to mesmerize him. 

“ You are not an errand-boy,” she said with decision, 
taking the basket from him half-mechanically, and still with 
her eyes fixed upon him. Having rid himself of the basket 
Lance instinctively rubbed his cold hands. 

“You are cold,” she said; and now that some of the 
hard lines in her face had relaxed with the opening of her 
lips, Lance thought her not at all formidable. “ Won’t you 
come inside?” she added. “Can you manage to get 
through the window ? ” 

He was not in the least anxious to get through the win- 
dow ! what he said was — “ Thank you very much, but my 
clogs are all over snow.” 

“ That’s of no consequence,” she declared, setting the 
basket of groceries on the floor; “ come in out of the cold.” 

Feeling anything but happy, he placed his hands on the 
window-ledge and vaulted easily into the room — the tern- 


14 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


perature of which was only slightly higher than that of 
the open. 

“ You are not an errand-boy,” she said again, as she shut 
the window and handed him a chair. “ Shall I tell you 
who you are? ” she asked after a slight pause, during which 
she surveyed him from head to foot. “ You are a Riding- 
dale.” 

“ Yes, madam.” 

‘‘ And why do you bring me my groceries ? ” 

“The — the new boy was afraid.” 

“ And you are not afraid ? ” she asked quickly. 

“ No, madam. At least, not — not in that way,” Lance 
said with a deep blush. 

“ In what way ? ” 

“I — I don’t quite know, madam. He thought you 
might hurt him in some way.” 

The old lady sighed and clasped her hands. 

“ Do I look like a person who would hurt others ? ” she 
asked gently. 

“ Not at all,” Lance answered eagerly. “ Oh, of course 
not.” 

“ Do you know that, if I had the wish and the power to 
hurt any person, that person would be a Ridingdale ? ” 

She spoke now with a certain intensity; a curious light 
crept into her pale blue eyes. Lance shot one quick glance 
at Miss Bessie and another one at the closed window. He 
told himself that he was not the least bit frightened, but 
that if anything did happen it might be well to go through 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


IS 


the window feet foremost. He thought his severely-ironed 
clogs would deal successfully with the glass. He wished 
she would not eye him so keenly. 

“ You are Lady Constance’s son, aren’t you? ” she asked 
after a moment’s silence. 

** Oh, no,” — and Lance could not help a little laugh. 

Lady Constance was my father's mother. She married 
her cousin, you know, General Ridingdale. She was my 
grandmother. She has been dead ever so long.” 

“ Ah ! ” sighed Miss Bessie, “ of course : I remember 
now.' She was very beautiful. You are one of Mr. John’s 
sons then? Yes, yes. My memory fails me at times. 
Master John was a handsome man, but — did you know 
your Uncle Harry? ” 

“ No, madam. He was killed in the Mutiny, you know. 
That was years before I was born.” 

She had risen and was pacing about the room. She was 
not talking to Lance now. 

“ Yes, yes, Harry Ridingdale was killed in the Mutiny 
— in the Mutiny. Of course he was. Ah, my poor sister ! 
. . . On the very night he sailed for India. Yes, the 

very night. . . . Poor, poor, Harriet! Such a cold 

night too! . . . And just where the water was deep- 

est!” 

For some minutes she continued to walk up and down, 
muttering to herself — now in a fierce lialf-whisper and now 
in low moaning words that Lance did not catch. 

Trembling a little with nervousness, he rose at length 


i6 THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 

and moved the basket in order to attract her attention. 
The winter afternoon was beginning to wane. In a little 
while it would be dark. Candlesticks were on the mantel- 
piece, but no candles were in them, and there was no gas in 
the room. 

Fm afraid, madam, I must be going,” he began. The 
boy is waiting outside for his basket, and I ought to have 
been at home some time ago.” 

Still muttering to herself, but without addressing him, 
she took the basket and left the room. 

When I do get outside,” said Lance to himself, as he 
stepped to the window and examined the fastening of the 
latch, ‘‘ ril make Jack Barson sit up.” 

Even as he said it, he was ashamed of himself. Serve 
me jolly well right,” he thought. Always wanting to 
show off, and pretending I can do things other people 
daren’t. Why, I’ve hardly done trembling now. Still it 
is a bit rough being alone in a house with a mad woman.” 

Miss Bessie returned so suddenly, and looked at Lance 
so searchingly, he feared that she might have heard his 
unspoken soliloquy. 

“ It’s just like a Ridingdale to do things other people are 
afraid to do,” she began. Your Uncle Harry lost his 
life in doing that. Though why people should be afraid 
of me I can’t imagine. They frighten me terribly some- 
times; particularly the men and boys. You wouldn’t. I’m 
sure — though you’re a Ridingdale, and some of them have 
been cruel enough. I don’t think you’re cruel. Some 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


17 


young men shot my dog and poisoned my cat ” — she 
sobbed at the recollection — and the boys frighten me, to 
death sometimes by letting off gunpowder and fireworks 
under my window/' 

But,” Lance said eagerly, his sympathy for the weeping 
old woman bubbling up as he spoke, “ they shan’t do that. 
I’ll tell my father, and he’ll set Sergeant Murphy to watch. 
Would you — would you care for another cat?” 

She shook her head mournfully. “ I daren’t have an- 
other one; I should get fond of it, and then it would be 
killed or stolen. I daren’t, my dear. It is kind of you 
to think of it, but I daren’t ever get fond of anything or 
anybody again.” 

“ But,” exclaimed Lance, with some firmness, it shan't 
get either stolen or killed. I’ll — my father ’ll take care of 
that. Do let me bring you one. We’ve got three lovely 
tabbie kittens, and I’m sure mother would spare one. In 
fact, I would try and get you a dog, if you would let me.” 

In his excitement and eagerness he had taken the old 
lady’s hand — scarcely aware of the fact until he tried to 
withdraw it, and found it tightly clasped in her bony grasp. 
She was weeping quite freely now. Though he had no 
idea of it, tears were standing in his own eyes. Miss 
Bessie saw them. 

'' God bless you, my dear,” she sobbed. “ God bless you 
for your kind thought. I don’t know what to say. I’m 
afraid of being fond of anything again. I think you — 
you’d better not ” 


i8 THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 

“They’re the dearest little tabbies!” he interjected; it 
seemed to him that she was wavering. 

“ It’s not likely that you’ll come here again,” she said, 
relinquishing his hand, with a deep sigh. “ You only came 
to-day just to show that you were not afraid; isn’t that so? 
Perhaps you made a bet, or something?” 

“ Oh, no; I didn’t make a bet,” he said blushingly. He 
could not deny that he had come just to score off Jack 
Barson. “ And I will call again if — if my father and 
mother will let me.” 

“ Ah,” she ejaculated, “ if; there is always an if, isn’t 
there? And you’ll find they won’t let you. That was 
the trouble years ago. My people were not aristocrats. 
My father was only a doctor. You belong to one of the 
oldest families in England. I used to remind poor Harriet 
of that. She wouldn’t believe me when I told her that 
Master Harry would never marry her; and, of course, it 
was only a tenants’ ball we were invited to. To be sure, 
he danced with her twice; but it may have been only be- 
cause he saw she did not get many partners.” 

“ Did — did my uncle propose to her ? ” Lance asked very 
shyly. 

“No, my dear; oh, no. They were perfect strangers. 
He was kind to her, and, poor thing, she thought he was in 
love with her. They never met again. Harriet was ro- 
mantic, you see. She used to read Lord Byron from 
morning till night. Poor dear! — I wouldn’t say this to 
anybody else — but she was always too sentimental — al- 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


19 


most silly, was Harriet. Your uncle was not the first 
person of rank she had fallen in love with. But, just to 
keep up appearances — to have somebody to blame, I have 
always pretended that she was jilted by Mr. Harry Riding- 
dale. Her suicide was such a shock to me. Fve done 
wrong, Fm sure. I have always pretended to think that 
his death in the Mutiny was a judgment upon him. God 
forgive me ! But you don’t know, my dear, what a dread- 
ful think it is to lose your only relation. Of course, Har- 
riet’s own letter — the letter she left on her pillow that 
awful night — made it clear that she was in love with him. 
I knew that he must have forgotten her very name long 
before the ball was over, and he only stayed at the Hall for 
a day or two. You see, he was the first real gentleman 
she had ever danced with, and because he was kind and 
polite and complimented her on her dancing — she danced 
much better than the farmers’ daughters about here — 
she thought he was smitten. Poor dear Harriet! It was 
a terrible shock to me. Fve never been the same woman 
since. Of course she was out of her mind. For months 
before it happened she had been queer. There’s queerness 
in the family, you see.” 

Though the tears had been welling in Lance’s eyes, this 
last sentence made him feel inclined to laugh. The family 
“ queerness ” was so very obvious. 

“ One thing Fm glad of ’’ — she went on : ''I did not let 
them put that letter in the newspaper- It had to be read at 
the inquest, of course : but when man who was writing 


20 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


a report of the case asked me to let him copy it I refused. 
IVe shown it to one or two people, and I’ve got it still : but 
I know that it is all nonsense. You see, I couldn’t bear the 
idea of her going to the asylum. I was wrong, of course. 
If she had been shut up, poor dear! she might have been 
alive now.” 

Lance had often been wearied by narratives of family 
history, and long detailed accounts of the real and imagi- 
nary ailments of the poor. His was the sympathetic ear 
that such histories are always poured into. Children and 
old people seemed by a sort of instinct to turn to him as 
to one who understood and possessed a feeling heart. They 
were perfectly right in their judgment, though they little 
thought how much they sometimes tried his patience. He 
owned that to knock at certain cottage doors cost him a 
great effort. But then, mother had said that sympathy 
was such a rare commodity — ever so much rarer than 
material help — that to give it on demand was always a 
gracious act, the kind of task that no Christian gentleman 
will shrink from. 

But he had never so badly wanted to get away from any 
person as at this moment he wished to get away from Miss 
Bessie. His feelings were very mixed. He was deeply 
sorry for her, and he longed to console her in some way; 
but the case was a difficult one. He would have liked to 
say something comforting, but he had no formula, no set 
phrases, and he felt altogether helpless. He did not know 
that a sympathetic manner is often of more value than 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


21 


mere words; he did not guess that his shining eyes full 
of unconscious and unshed tears had worked wonders upon 
the poor old lady in front of him; he did not realize that 
he had already brought more comfort to a grief-stricken 
heart than it had received for many long years. 

“ But I am almost sure my mother will let me call again,” 
he said resolutely taking up the basket. “ You see, we’re 
not the kind of people you — I mean we don’t — well, you 
know, things at the Hall are not what they were when you 
— I mean years ago.” 

He knew that lie was floundering in his speech and grew 
very rosy in his embarrassment. One clear idea was in his 
mind : he ought to go, and go he would. 

“ Good-bye, madam,” he said, hastily striding to the 
window. “ I shall not forget the kitten.” 

For one moment Miss Bessie took him into her arms: 
he felt sure that her lips touched his hair. 

“ Good-bye,” he said again as he raised the sash. “ I’m 
so — so sorry.” 

She stood at the open window when he had swung him- 
self through on to the snow-covered garden-path. 

‘‘ Good-bye, my dear,” she said. I don’t think you’re 
a boy at all. No,” she muttered to herself shutting the 
window as Lance ran through the garden and passed out 
into the lane, “ sinner as I am, the Lord sent an angel ta 
comfort me.” 

As he reached the roadway anything less angelic-looking 
than Lance could not be described. It is sad to write it of 


22 THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 

one’s hero, but his condition when he found that Jack 
Barson had disappeared, and that he (Lance) was saddled 
with one of Rup’s grocery baskets, was that state of furious 
indignation which is often described as a towering rage. 
He ought to have been home an hour and a half ago, and 
here he was just mid-way between the grocer’s shop and 
the Hall. 

Let the beastly thing lie there! ” he exclaimed, throw- 
ing the basket down and giving it a kick that certainly 
did not add to its value. Then a sense of shame possessed 
him, with perhaps a glimmering notion of his own unrea- 
sonableness. 

After all,” he said to himself, ‘‘ I couldn’t expect him 
to wait all that time.” 

He felt half disposed to be angry with Miss Bessie ; but 
that feeling he soon put aside. The person he was indis- 
posed to forgive was himself. 

It was growing dark now, and Jack might be somewhere 
in the neighborhood. '‘Jack! Jack! ” he shouted, and his 
high voice rang like two pistol-shots in the winter silence 
of the lane. Perhaps it was just as well that Jack had not 
waited. 

“ S’pose I ought to take the thing back,” he grumbled, 
turning his face in the direction of the village. “ Jack’ll 
get into a row as it is; but if I take the basket back, I can 
explain. And George is waiting for this brush! And I 
shall be a whole hour late for tea ! ” 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


23 


The rush of anger threatened to return with redoubled 
force, but — well, some words that had been whispered into 
his ear only last Saturday night returned to him. ‘‘ Tell me, 
my child, did you try to check it? ” He had been able to 
say, “ Yes, Father, I really did try.” He wanted to be able 
to say that again. 

He was angry with himself for being angry — a not 
uncommon experience; but he was no longer in a rage 
with Jack Barson. With the poor suffering old woman 
he had just left, how could he be vexed? — he asked him- 
self. And, after all, what a good thing it was that the 
errand he had gone on originally was for George, and not 
for Hilary, or even for Harry. George never got into a 
rage about things of that sort. “ Dare say he has forgotten 
all about the brush by this time,” Lance reflected. “ And 
mother doesn’t mirid our being late for tea at holiday-time. 
. . . Why, who on earth is this coming? Can’t be 

Jack Barson? Hope it is though. No; it’s not big enough 
for him. Hello! is that Tommie? ” 

Tommie Lethers it was, sure enough. 

“ Oh, Master Lance, I’m so glad you’ve come I ” Tom- 
mie’s tremendous sigh of relief seemed to indicate that a 
cartload of apprehension had been removed from his mind 
by the appearance of Lance. 

Why, what’s the row, Tommie ? ” Lance asked cheer- 
ily. 

Jack Barson told me you had gone into Miss Bessie’s 


24 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


— I mean right in through the window. And he said 
you’d been there for hours, and pr’aps you’d never come out 
again alive ! ” 

The lane rang with a peal of laughter that only Lance 
could produce. Its immediate effect was to remove the 
panic-stricken, woe-begone expression from Tommie’s face. 

“ Look here, Tommie,” said Lance, '' if Jack Barson 
is a nincompoop, you needn’t be one, you know. Miss Bes- 
sie wouldn’t hurt a fly. We’ve had ever such a jolly — 
well, an awfully long chat, and I’m going to take her a 
kitten to-morrow, if mother will let me. I’m fearfully 
sorry for Miss Bessie, poor old thing ! and — O, I say, 
Tommie, could you take this basket back to Rup’s for me? ” 

Tommie would have taken fifty baskets, not merely to 
Rup’s, but to the ends of the earth, at the smallest hint 
from Lance. Short of actual crime, there was nothing 
that Tommie would not do for the boy he worshipped. 
Lance did not know of it at the time; but that after- 
noon Tommie had spent more than an hour in walking 
up and down the lane — watching and waiting, crying 
and praying, while Lance remained under Miss Bessie’s 
roof. 

“ Thanks, Tommie, ever so much,” said the relieved 
Lance, as Tommie clutched the basket. I’m awfully late. 
Ta-ta, old chap. See you at the rehearsal to-night.” 

The two lads ran their hardest — in opposite directions. 

On reaching home, Lance’s first duty was to find George 

— not a difficult task as a rule. For George was essentially 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


25 


the maker of things artistic — from tiny water-colour draw- 
ings to stage scenery; from sonnets to five-act plays. Not 
even the steady, level-headed Hilary had the sticking- 
power of George — who, once the holidays came, found a 
score of delightfully congenial tasks awaiting him, and 
would work from morning till night in a quiet determined 
way that was the envy and the despair of Harry and Lance. 
And, if for any reason he was checked in his work for lack 
of a tool or the right material, he had the faculty of passing 
quite contentedly to some other task, “ without,” as Lance 
put it, “ barging the first chap he meets, or flinging things 
all over the shop ; ” a course of conduct that at least two 
of his brothers were not always guiltless of. 

Father and mother often talked over this curious example 
of a highly-developed artistic temperament wholly devoid 
of that irritability which is supposed, of course quite errone- 
ously, to be a necessary part of it. They thought it curious 
that one of their sons should differ so markedly from the 
rest. To be sure, there was a kind of similarity between 
Hilary and George, though in the former the artistic tem- 
perament, if not wholly absent, was anything but prominent. 
In Lance it was sometimes too prominent, and carried with 
it all the faults that were not to be found in George; and 
yet the latter had not the troop of friends that Lance might 
have boasted of. Some people thought George a little cold 
and conceited; I am sure they were mistaken. He was 
more reserved than his brothers, and often more pre-occu- 
pied. His placid temper made for coldness, and his ap- 


26 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


plication to work made him seem indifferent to everything 
except the particular task he had in hand. 

You never have to tell George to keep his hair on/' 
Harry once remarked, ‘‘ or to brush it either. I never 
saw such a chap. There he is, messing with paints or 
ink all day long, yet he never gets himself into a mess, 
and looks just as fresh at the end of school as he did at 
breakfast." 

It was so seldom that he incurred punishment of any kind 
that in order to be like the rest he sometimes half-coveted 
it. Once, and only once, had Dr. Byrse caned him, and 
when he was congratulated upon this by his brothers, he 
complained that it was only a measley sixer," and that 
before the day was over Lance would be sure to put him to 
shame by getting ‘‘ a handsome twelve." Unfortunately, 
the prognostication was a true one ; and Lance’s subsequent 
remarks on domestic prophets were worth hearing. 

On this particular afternoon Lance found his poet-brother 
sitting alone in a corner of Arts and Crafts lost in thought. 
He had not waited for the brush Lance was getting, but, 
taking out his pencil and the MS. book he always carried 
in the pocket of his blouse, had given himself up to com- 
position. 

I’m awfully sorry, George : I am really” Lance began ; 
'' but I’ve had a regular adventure. I’ll tell you about it 
later. I must get some grub now. Hope I haven’t hin- 
dered you, old chap ? ’’ 

" Not at all," George said, shutting his note-book. “ I’ve 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


27 


written nearly a whole act of my new play since you went 
into Ridingdale.” 

“ So glad/' ejaculated Lance. “ You look just like a 
young Shakespeare. Well, Fve got material for either a 
comedy or a tragedy — don’t know which yet. You must 
decide. But I say, I’m furiously peckish. I must find 
mother.” 

Lance clattered off to the little sitting-room, where after 
tea she was sure to be found sewing until such time as she 
went up to the nursery. 

Mother dear,” he said as he stooped to kiss her, “ may 
I ask Sarah for some bread and butter ? And may I bring 
it here? Then I can tell you all about it, and what kept 
me, and everything.” 

“ You deserve a scolding, Lannie,” she said, smiling at 
the eager face and sparkling eyes that looked pleadingly into 
her own. “ Where have you been, my darling ? ” 

It’ll take me at least half an hour to tell you every- 
thing,” he said, kissing her again. “ You’ll let me bring 
it here, mammie, won’t you ? ” 

She assented, and in a few minutes he returned from the 
kitchen with a small tray of buttered toast — the fruit of 
Jane’s forethought for her favourite, of course — and a jug 
of hot milk. 

“ I’m awfully lucky^ mother,” he said with a chuckle. 

Jane happened to have some hot toast quite ready. Why 
do you laugh, mother? It really was quite ready: she 
hasn’t just made it.” 


28 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


Mrs. Ridingdale could not conceal her amusement. It 
was so like Lance's innocence to think that Jane hap- 
pened to have " what she had prepared on purpose for him. 

Between the toast and the hot milk I am afraid Lance’s 
narrative of his adventure at Miss Bessie’s suffered a little 
in coherency. It took quite half an hour in the telling, 
and at the end of it mother scarcely knew whether to be 
pleased or sorry, whether to blame her boy or to praise 
him. 

‘‘ You’ll let me take her the kitten — won’t you, 
mother?” he asked, bringing his chair very close to hers 
and trying to coax the sewing out of her hands for a 
moment. She seemed thoughtful and pre-occupied. 

We must talk to father about it,” she said at length. 
‘‘ Yes, dear, we can spare the kitten. But what do you 
think father will say to your acting the part of grocer’s 
errand-boy ? ” 

Lance had possession of the sewing now, and his moth- 
er’s hand also. 

** Will he be wax — angry, mother? ” 

“ He will be pleased to hear one part of your story : the 
part that relates to Uncle Harry. There are people in the 
neighbourhood who still believe that he jilted Miss Bessie’s 
sister. We, of course, always knew that the story was 
absurd and impossible. Poor thing, she was always very 
eccentric. Your father remembers that ball very well, and 
he says that everybody laughed at her quaint dress and 
manner, and that nobody would dance with her — until 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


29 


Uncle Harry out of sheer pity asked to be introduced to 
her. He was just a bright, good-hearted boy — not so 
very unlike a certain laddie I know something of.” 

Here Lance’s head somehow got very close to mother’s. 

“ I’m so glad, mother,” he said. “ Then you think I’ve 
done some good ? ” 

“I hope so, my darling; though, in a way, the good 
was accidental. I am not at all sure that you ought to 
have put your finger in that errand-boy’s pie. We must 
always be careful not to interfere unnecessarily in other 
people’s affairs.” 

“ But he was in a regular blue-fright, mother. She 
mightn’t have got her grocery stuff for hours.” 

‘‘ Perhaps he suggested that my son was frightened, 
too?” 

“ Well — yes — he did, mother.” 

And, of course, you wanted to show him that you were 
not?” 

“ O, mammie, how you cross-examine a fellow ! ” laughed 
Lance. “ But that was just it. And as a matter of fact — 
between ourselves — don’t tell the others, will you ? — I 
felt awfully jumpy; ’specially when I got inside that room. 
But I was all right afterwards: at any rate before I came 
away. You see, mammie, she seemed — well, of course, 
I don’t know, but she seemed as if ” 

‘‘ As if — what, darling? ” 

“ Well, mammie, as if she liked me — just a wee bit, I 


mean. 


30 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


To Lannie it seemed the most natural thing in the world 
that his mother should love him so much, because, as he 
once explained to me, '' I love her, you know, such an awful 
lot ; ” but that anybody outside his own family circle should 
care for him, even “ just a wee bit,’^ seemed to him extraor- 
dinary, and almost incredible. “ But then, as he put 
it in his naive way, '' all the people about here are so jolly 
kind.” 

“ Just as if ” — Mrs. Ridingdale said to herself, as she 
gave him a final hug before she hurried to the nursery — 
just as if anybody, however eccentric, could help liking 
my darling.” 

There was a rehearsal that night at the guild-room, but 
he thought there would be time to run to the kitchen, and 
tell Jane and Sarah all about his visit to Miss Bessie. 
Besides, he wanted to thank them for happening to have ” 
that toast. The proverb says that “ a meal eaten is soon 
forgotten ; ” it may be by some. Lance rarely forgot a 
kindness, however trivial. 

When they heard that Lance had actually been inside 
Miss Bessie’s house, the consternation of Jane and Sarah 
amused him very much. He liked the opportunity of giving 
these good creatures a mild shock. He found them both 
inclined to hold the witch theory, and this he combated 
hotly. They expressed a desire to get hold of Jack Barson, 
in order to give him that curiously undefined thing known 
in their speech as “ what for.” They implored Lance never 
again to trust himself under the roof of that mad old 


THE WITCH OF RIDINGDALE 


31 


thing,” and when he teasingly intimated his intention of 
taking tea wiih Miss Bessie on the first possible occasion, 
Sarah declared she would go straight to his father and 
implore him to forbid so perilous an act. She said that 
Lance’s going to some of those dirty cottages in the lane 
was bad enough — Sarah was terribly severe on people who 
did not live in speckless houses — but to sit down to tea 
with a raving lunatic was like putting your head into a 
lion’s mouth.” 




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LANCE IN REQUEST. 

I. 


The amount of art that William Lethers can put into a pair 
of dancing-clogs must be seen in order to be appreciated. 
But when he undertakes to make a pair for one of the 
Squire’s boys — always as a gift, and generally made “ un- 
beknownst ” to the recipient — he surpasses himself. His 
pride in them when they are finished is almost equal to that 
of the wearer. The scorn with which William rejects one 

35 


36 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


pair of uppers after another until he gets the leather that 
is at once stout and supple, strong and soft, is not soon to 
be forgotten; and the care that he takes in the finish of 
sole and heel is of the kind that an Academician might be- 
stow upon a favourite picture. 

On his last birthday, Lance had been the happy recipient 
of such a pair, and it is certain that the possession of them 
had raised his dancing to a high artistic level. Both the 
Squire and the Colonel were great admirers and encour- 
agers of what they called ‘‘the Dance of the County'^ — 
as seemly in its way as the Irish Jig or the Highland Fling, 
and no Guild or School entertainment was ever complete 
without a competition for the clog-dancing boys of the vil- 
lage. As an exercise for cold winter nights it was more 
than excellent, and though for the most part Lance and his 
brothers supplied the music and left the dancing to their 
poorer friends, there were times when the Squire’s boys 
were called upon to show their skill. The monthly Guild 
entertainments were always largely attended, and the prepa- 
ration for them took up a good deal of the winter evening 
leisure of the working laos of Ridingdale. Rough fellows 
enough some of them were, but genuinely grateful to the 
Squire’s boys for turning out in all sorts of weather and 
giving up so much of their own evening leisure for the 
benefit of the Guild. 

It was fairly hard work, this hour’s practice, for before 
the end of it the atmosphere began to smell a little of cordu- 
roy and fustian, and of clogs that were not cleaned quite so 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


37 


often as those of the Hall boys. Lance admitted that he 
sometimes found it trying to be surrounded and pressed 
upon by a crowd of lads who had spent most of the day in 
workshop or stable or byre ; but his smiling management of 
the mob was that of a young king among his courtiers, and 
it was seldom indeed that the harmony of the evening was 
disturbed. The Colonel and the Squire looked in fre- 
quently, and William Lethers held proud and constant 
charge of the Guild-room. 

The choir-boys had their own nights for practising, 
though now and then they joined their brothers of the 
Guild for entertaining purposes. But Concert-nights were 
looked forward to by old and young. Nobody could say 
that Ridingdale was destitute of talent, and if every single 
item of the programme was not always to the taste of each 
individual member of the audience, the selection of song 
and dance and recitation and instrumental solo was so 
varied that nobody ever went away dissatisfied. Conces- 
sions to the popular taste were frequently made, and George 
and his brothers often did violence to themselves in order to 
give the people what they liked best. Mrs. Ridingdale’s 
brilliant piano-playing was greatly enjoyed, and her ap- 
pearance on the platform always gave rise to applause that 
a stranger might have mistaken for an incipient riot. 

But if anything could have turned Lance's head — and 
it really seemed as if nothing could — it would have been 
the frantic encores to the songs with which he delighted his 
very mixed audience. It had become quite a usual thing 


38 LANCE IN REQUEST 

for these demonstrative folk to recall him a third and fourth 
time, and nothing but the appearance of the Squire him- 
self — with a smiling face, it is true, but also with an 
uplifted hand and a shaking head — could quell these tem- 
pests of applause. 

Almost equally popular were the choruses and part-songs 
of the boys, and the introduction of a little action made 
these items quasi-dramatic. 

It was the opening night of the winter season, and while 
the people assembled in the big room set apart for entertain- 
ments, the performers and their friends amused themselves 
in various ways in the retiring-room at the back of the 
stage. 

To-night all the choir-boys were, so to say, behind the 
scenes. Some new action-songs were in the programme, 
and though there was nothing that required a change of 
costume. Dr. Byrse insisted upon their remaining together 
until they were needed. Beyond a tendency to use tables 
as chairs, and a general disposition to assume easy and 
unconventional attitudes, there was nothing that necessi- 
tated the “ Don’t ” of the schoolmaster — who had made 
himself responsible for the good behaviour of the waiting 
choristers. He was relieved from time to time by William 
Lethers, who, in his turn, was relieved by the boys of sun- 
dry tins and paper-packages that one of their number had 
lately seen him buying in Kitty’s shop. William had a 
theory that “ little dicky-birds what sing desarve a bit o’ 
summat swate ; ” whether these particular dicky-birds de- 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


39 


served it or not they always got it when William was in the 
neighbourhood. Equal distribution was a point of honour 
— Lance and his brothers saw to that — and the lads broke 
up into smiling groups, well contented to sit still and 
await the hour of seven. Lance was down in the pro- 
gramme for a recitation, and withdrew himself from the 
crowd that he might look over his piece for the last time. 

Literary and refined tastes were always catered for, and 
certainly one of the great successes of this particular even- 
ing was Lance’s recitation of Chaucer’s Prioress’ Tale, 
or rather Wordsworth’s version of it. Judiciously cut 
down because of its length, and most delicately accompa- 
nied on harp and violin — low ’cello tones occasionally 
introducing the melody of the Alma Redemptoris — the 
beautiful old legend was listened to by young and old with 
eager attention. 

Even during the time of its rehearsal it was clear to those 
who were fortunate enough to hear him that Lance not only 
appreciated the ancient story, but that in its recital he had 
now and again to struggle with his feelings. He had in- 
deed asked advice as to whether he should, or should not, 
leave out certain stanzas that always brought a lump 
into his throat,” as he said, but everybody argued against 
this so sternly that he determined to nerve himself for an 
extra effort. He did not quite succeed in hiding his emo- 
tion when he came to the stanza which describes the grief 
of the child’s mother — this second Rachel.” 

Very clearly and distinctly, but with the minimum of 


40 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


gesture — he could employ gesture so well on occasion — 
Lance told the pathetic story of the little cleric who haz- 
arded many floggings in order to learn the song that ^ ' 

Was fashioned for our blissful Lady free, 

Her to salute, and also her to pray 
To be our help upon our dying day. 

With great directness and simplicity Lance recounted the 
moving legend of the old-time chorister who risked and lost 
his innocent life by signing his Alma well and fearlessly, 

From word to word according to the note ; 

Twice in a day it passed through his throat; 

Homeward and schoolward whensoe’er he went. 

On Jesus’ Mother fixed was his intent. 

But the unconscious pathos with which Lance delivered the 
last stanza — actually the last but one, but Mr. Ridingdale 
cut out every reference to the Jews — seemed to move the 
audience deeply, perhaps because it also threatened to break 
down the reciter. More slowly and more softly than be- 
fore — the music hushed to the faintest possible pianissimo 
— Lance gave out the beautiful lines : 

Eke the whole Convent on the pavement lay 
Weeping and praising Jesus’ Mother dear; 

And after that they rose and took their way. 

And lifted up this martyr from the bier. 

And in a tomb of precious marble clear 
Enclosed his uncorrupted body sweet, 

Where’er he be, God grant us him to meet! 


The recitation was the second item on the programme, 
and some time elapsed before Lance reappeared to sing one 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


41 


of the several songs that were expected from him. Though 
the speaking piece had almost absorbed his attention, and 
though the audience was packed as closely as figs in a box, 
the reciter had been just vaguely conscious of the presence 
of a stranger. It was not at all an unusual thing for Tim- 
ington, Hardlow, even Delton people to attend these famous 
entertainments; but Lance knew all of them by sight, most 
of them by name. Now that he could venture to glance 
at the stranger, Lance saw a distinguished-looking man of 
middle age, whose face showed keen interest and intelli- 
gence, as well as pleasure. 

A total stranger, and yet, thought Lance to himself dur- 
ing the interludes between the verses of his song, the face 
seemed familiar. He knew it, and yet he did not know it. 
He knew it as, for instance, he knew the face of the Prince 
of Wales, whom he had seen but once, and then only at a 
distance. It must be somebody then with whose portrait 
he was familiar! If so, the stranger was indeed a Some- 
body. 

Lance little guessed that not only the song he was at 
that moment singing, but many another musical number 
with which he was familiar, had come from the pen of this 
truly distinguished man. 

There was the usual demonstration at the end, and Lance 
had repeated the last verse by way of encore, when, as he 
bowed himself off the platform, he saw the stranger trying 
to push his way through the wedge of people that blocked 
up the gangway. Thinking that the gentleman was going 


42 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


home, Lance promptly forgot everything but the fact that 
he himself was not on in the next scene, and that he could 
take a few minutes^ rest. 

To his surprise the next item had only just begun, and 
he had scarcely found himself alone in the retiring-room, 
when the door opened and William Lethers entered, fol- 
lowed by the stranger. 

With just a passing recollection of the two “ London 
Agents ” who had surprised him in the wood, Lance rose 
to greet the unknown visitor. The boy saw at once that 
here was no seeker of “ hartists for the ’alls.” 

The stranger, who spoke with a refined accent and in 
the most courteous terms, apologized for his intrusion, 
and declared that nothing but the keeping of an important 
engagement could have induced him to forfeit the remainder 
of an entertainment so much to his liking. 

He then proceeded, in terms that made the blood mount 
to Lance’s cheeks, to thank him for his exquisite singing, 
and to congratulate him upon the possession of so beautiful 
a voice. 

“ I should very much like a word with your father 
before I leave; but I am almost due at the station, and 
Mr. Ridingdale is not get-at-able. Might I ask you to give 
him my card, and to say that I shall do myself the honour 
of writing to him at the earliest opportunity.” 

With a bow and a smile the stranger vanished, and 
Lance looked at the visiting card. It bore the name of a 
well-known English composer. 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


43 



11 . 

Only fancy, father ! ’’ exclaimed Lance a few minutes 
later. Sir Alfred, his very own self ! ” 

The excitement among the boys was intense, and for 
once in his life Lance was glad when the performance came 
to an end. Sir Alfred was on everybody’s lips. Lance 
could think of nothing else, speak of nothing else. Even 
the Colonel, who had a way of disguising his pleasure and 
satisfaction, on this occasion made no attempt to do so. 

“ I am so sorry I did not see Sir Alfred,” said the Squire 
to Lance as they walked home, though the latter danced 


44 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


rather than walked. ‘‘ I caught sight of a stranger once, 
and remember thinking how extremely like Sir Alfred he 
looked; but to imagine the great man being present at our 
concert seemed too absurd.” 

And we had several of his songs ! ” Lance put in. 

Yes. Lucky for you, Lance, that you did not recog- 
nize him while you were singing. But what pleases me 
most,’"' continued the Squire, and what I hope pleased 
him, was your reciting the Prioress^ Tale. Don’t you re- 
member my telling you, quite a long time ago, that he was 
setting it to music — making a cantata of it? Well, I 
see that it is to be produced at the next Leeds Festival, 
and that he is going to conduct it.” 

Lance became rhapsodical and incoherent in his expres- 
sions of delight, and implored his father to say what he 
thought Sir Alfred wanted to see him about. 

‘‘We shall know when we hear from him, shan’t we, 
Lannie? Not much good speculating, is it? ” 

But Lance could not help speculating. He lay awake 
that night for nearly an hour, wondering if the letter would 
come by the morning post, and greatly fearing it would not. 
Why had the great man visited Ridingdale ? And why did 
he want an interview with his father? These questions 
pursued the boy during all the school hours of the following 
day, and led to the commission of some of those minor 
follies that, under certain circumstances, he was apt to fall 
into. 

When the letter did come, its contents gave the Squire 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


45 


and his wife enormous pleasure and some little uneasiness. 
In most graceful terms Sir Alfred explained his presence 
in the neighbourhood, the delight with which he had heard 
Lance sing and recite, and the anxiety that was weighing 
upon him on account of his inability to get an entirely 
satisfactory boy-soprano to take the part of the “ little 
clergyman ’’ in his new cantata. “ It is impossible,” he 
wrote, that this part should be taken by a lady. I would 
rather withdraw my work from the Festival programme 
than have the child’s solos screamed by a prima donna. Last 
week I tested the voices of twelve or thirteen London boys, 
but every one of them had some miserable trick of produc- 
tion, some taint of the Cockney professional, or some 
miserable defect of pronunciation which would ruin the 
effect I have aimed at. I want a voice that is trained, but 
not overtrained. In short, I want the pure crystal quality 
of your son’s voice, his refined accent, and above all his 
perfectly natural and artless method of singing.” 

The letter was a long one. Its writer seemed fully to 
understand that he was asking a great deal, and made every 
apology to Mr. Ridingdale for ‘‘ so daring a suggestion.” 

Two copies of the cantata had come by the same post, 
and when Lance burst into the breakfast-room on the second 
morning after the concert he found his father quite ab- 
sorbed in the score of the Prioress' Tale. 

'' You can read Sir Alfred’s letter, my dear,” said the 
Squire. It concerns you very much. We cannot decide 
the matter at once. Mother and I must talk it over quietly.” 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


Harry says that while spelling through Sir Alfred’s let- 
ter — the great man wrote a very tiny and illegible hand 
— Lance filled the sugar-basin with hot milk, and spooned 
up the lumps of sugar under the impression that they were 
cubes of bread ; a species of methodical madness that Lance 
afterwards stoutly denied. As in many disputed cases, both 
were right — in a sense ; both, in a sense, were wrong. 
For as a matter of fact, a nearly, but not quite, empty 
sugar-basin was standing near Lance’s place at table, and 
he, mistaking it for his own bowl, did really pour into it 
hot milk; but no member of the Ridingdale family will 
ever know just exactly how many lumps of sugar were on 
that occasion dissolved. 

But if Lance got more than his fair share of sugar, it 
is certain that it did not occupy much of his attention. 
His eyes were glued on Sir Alfred’s letter, and its contents 
absorbed him. Once or twice he choked a little because 
an expression of rapture collided with a spoonful of milk. 

Harry was sorely tempted to drop some of those foreign 
substances, of which he always had a pocket-store, into his 
brother’s bowl; would have done so, if George had not 
whispered that it wasn’t fair to take advantage of Lance’s 
abstraction. 

Letter and milk both finished, Lance made a rush for his 
father, who had just stepped on to the lawn, and was still 
examining the score of Sir Alfred’s cantata. 

“ It is the principal part he is offering you, Lannie,” 
Mr. Ridingdale said as Lance ran up to him, “and I’m 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


47 


afraid — yes, Fm sadly afraid it is rather a heavy one, he 
went on as he turned over the pages of the cantata. 

However, we must see what mother says, old man — eh? ” 

Lance was shaking with excitement. 

‘‘ O father, wouldn’t it be glorious ! ” he exclaimed. 

Fancy standing up before all those people! And that great 
orchestra at the back of you, and the hundreds of chorus 
singers on each side ! ” 

He had gone with his father and two of his brothers to 
one such festival, and the memory of it would be always 
with him. 

It is barely two months off the time,” the Squire said 
thoughtfully, and it would mean a serious interruption to 
all your studies. And you would have to be away from 
home for a week, more or less, if we reckon the necessary 
rehearsals as well as two performances.” 

The tears came into Lance’s eyes as he saw his father’s 
head shake; yet the boy’s own feelings in the matter were 
oddly mixed. Even at Ridingdale he always suffered from 
stage fright : what would it be to stand up and sing before 
thousands insteads of scores? His heart failed him at the 
thought of the great hall, the mighty chorus, the wonder- 
ful band. Yet, as he had said, if only he could do it how 
glorious it would be ! 

‘‘ Will it be a very big disappointment, Lance, if mother 
decides against it ? ” asked the Squire as he saw the tears 
in his son’s eyes. 

I don’t know, father,” he answered a little brokenly. 


48 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


‘‘ I seem to want to do it just awfully, and yet I — I 
— well, Fm a bit frightened.’’ 

I quite understand,” said the father, putting an arm 
round the boy. In spite of your good health you are a 
rather highly-strung chap, and I’m a little afraid this busi- 
ness would be too much for you. As you know, I don’t 
much like your appearing in public anywhere out of Riding- 
dale; but of course this is a very exceptional offer, and for 
some reasons I should like you to accept it. For one 
thing, they would pay you well and the money would be 
extremely useful to us just now.” 

O father! I never thought of that! Wouldn’t it be 
scrumptious to bring you back — I suppose it would be 
gold, wouldn’t it, father?” 

‘‘ It would certainly be gold, Fannie — possibly bank- 
notes. However, we won’t begin to count our chickens,” 
the Squire went on, laughing at his son’s excitement. 

This composer is a very worthy man, and his theme is a 
particularly delightful one. The leading motive seems to 
be a passage from an ancient Alma Redemptoris. Some of 
the little clerk’s solos are by no means easy, but they look 
very delightful. It was a most daring subject to choose; 
yet I fancy the attempt is justified by the treatment. We 
will go through it with the piano to-night.” 

The opening chorus of the cantata is descriptive of the 
Song-school and of the Choir-children learning their anti- 
phonere.” It is almost amusing in its quaintness, but the 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


49 


composer succeeds in welding together a number of plain- 
chant themes into harmonies singularly massive and grand, 
and the chorus ends in a majestic fortissimo passage of 
eight-part harmony. 

This is followed immediately by a duet between the little 
chorister and his school-fellow — first and second trebles 
respectively. It is a number of wonderful sweetness, in 
which the child-clerk begs his older class-mate to teach him 
the notes of the Alma. After this the orchestra takes up 
the story and presents to the imagination the streets of a 
mediaeval city. There are the cries of sellers and buyers; 
you hear the tramp of many feet; the sound of pipe and 
tabor in the inns; the riding forth of knights to battle; the 
chanting of a religious procession; the chiming of bells in 
the church towers: the notes of a funeral dirge; snatches 
of Bacchanalian harmony; the cries of the watchman going 
his rounds; but again and again, and above all the noise 
and din of the streets, rises the Alma Redemptoris of the 
little clerk. 

The chorus of Jewish Conspirators follows, and a num- 
ber descriptive of the murder of the child. A solo is given 
to the boy’s mother — a recitative and aria of great pathos ; 
and again for a time we hear the hubbub of the streets, 
and above it all the Alma Redemptoris, sung by the mar- 
tyred child. There follows the execution of the murderers, 
and finally the music of the Mass that is being sung for the 
soul of the little clerk. 

One of the most striking portions of the whole cantata 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


SO 

is the duet between the Abbot and the dead boy. In an 
impassioned passage the Abbot conjures the corpse to speak 
to him: 


O dear child! I summon thee 
In virtue of the Holy Trinity, 

Tell me the cause why thou dost sing this hymn, 

Since that thy throat is cut as it doth seem. 

The boy answers in an aria of some length and of ex- 
traordinary beauty and sweetness, and the cantata closes 
with a chorus for the Abbot and monks — a chorus that 
begins in a wailing dirge-like key, but gradually develops 
into a paean of joy and thanksgiving. 

• •«••••• 

For once in their life Mr. and Mrs. Ridingdale could 
not agree. Both of them told Lance to be patient, since it 
might be several days before they could decide as to whether 
he should, or should not, accept Sir Alfred’s offer. The 
suspense would have been more trying* than it was but for 
the fact that they both encouraged him to master the music 
of the cantata. “ Even if you don’t sing it at Leeds it is 
sure to be very useful some day,” the Squire had said to 
Lance. ‘‘We may even get it up at Ridingdale : who 
knows ? ” 

Night after night, when all the boys were in bed and 
asleep, father and mother talked the matter over. The 
Squire had written a courteous letter to Sir Alfred beg- 
ging for time to consider a thing of so much importance, 
and Sir Alfred had sent a reply which very much charmed 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


SI 


Mrs. Ridingdale and made her waver a little in her ob- 
jection; for from the beginning she had steadily set her 
face against Lance’s appearance as a quasi-professional 
singer. Not without fear of possible consequences to his 
son, Mr. Ridingdale seemed inclined to allow Lannie to 
appear. Indeed, if his wife agreed with him the matter 
would have been settled forthwith. 


52 


LANCE IN REQUEST 



III. 

As for Lance, he was having a big struggle with himself. 
For several days he was more than usually thoughtful and 
abstracted, going about in his free time with the score of 
the Prioress^ Tale under his arm or in his hands, and taking 
possession of Sniggery at times when his brothers were on 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


53 


the river or in the park. More than once he was seen 
sitting on the stage in Arts and Crafts, the music upon his 
knees and his eyes fixed dreamily upon — well, perhaps 
upon an imaginary audience. But, in spite of his day- 
dreams, he was absorbing the music and mastering its intri- 
cacies. Once each day Dr. Byrse gave him a lesson in 
some portion of it, and in the drawing-room at Slipper- 
time Lance rehearsed what he had learnt. In fact, before 
the end of a week he knew his own part perfectly, and 
everything seemed to be going well. Father and mother 
were pleased, and even the Colonel spoke encouragingly. 

But — ah, these dreadful buts! As Harry said when, 
with a mournful face, he told me the story, “ There was a 
whole butttvy full of them.” 

‘‘ Of course,” said Harry, gloomily, “ we’re used to 
Lance being oif it a bit now and then. No, I don’t exactly 
mean off his head, but — well you know yourself how it is 
with chaps who paint and sing and do the artist-and-poet 
business. He’s often like that just for a day or so, and we 
don’t rot him much about it, ’cause he generally comes up 
smiling the next morning. But this time the fit lasted a 
whole week. Hilary noticed it first. He had to, because 
though we’ve a strong team coming against us the day 
after to-morrow, Lannie has had no footer since that 
blessed what-do-you-call it — ’tisn’t an oratorio, is it? — 
came into the house. ’Fact, he’s had no sport of any kind. 
You could tell that by the state of his clogs when he took 
them off at night : they were almost as bright as when he 


54 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


put them on in the morning. So Hilary rowed him a bit 
and Lance said, “All right, he’d turn up after dinner;’ 
but he didn’t. Hilary went for him of course, and Lannie 
said he was awfully sorry, but he quite forgot. And I’m 
sure he did forget. Why one day he forgot to come in for 
tea, and when Lance doesn’t turn up for tea, you know 
that he’s a bit off it. 

“ Well, Hilary waited after dinner the next day to march 
him off to the park, but somehow Lance slipped away, and 
if we’d stopped to cop him we’d have lost all our play-time. 
Wednesday he turned up all right, but he played awfully 
badly and made some shocking bosses. In fact Hilary told 
him that he wasn’t to play in the match: he didn’t seem 
to mind a bit. 

“ But the worst of all was in school. Lance didn’t know 
a blessed lesson. Byrse stood it like a lamb for the first 
three days. Everything considered, he’s jolly patient, I 
always think, and if you know one subject well he’s gen- 
erally forgiving enough. But I’m blessed if Lannie knew 
a single thing. You should have heard his Livy! We 
were all in fits of laughter — at least we wanted to be. 
As for his Greek, I don’t believe he’d even looked at it. 
And on Wednesday Byrse nearly boiled over when Lance 
took up his Euclid paper. 

“ Now, on Fridays, after the Thursday holiday you know, 
Byrse is always very decent indeed ; but last Friday — my 
goodness! We soon saw how the land lay. Luckily, Hil- 
ary and I and the others were pretty well up in everything; 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


55 


but Lannie was a caution. However, Dr. Byrse kept his 
hair — kept his temper all the morning : it was in the after- 
noon that things happened. I saw what was coming the 
moment we sat down. There was a new cane lying on the 
desk. It’s the third he’s had since he told my father — 
that was on the day he came, you remember — that he’d 
never use such a thing. 

‘‘ But nobody can say that he didn’t give my brother 
every chance. I began to understand all about Job when 
I heard the idiotic answers that Lannie made to nearly 
every question. If he’d been chaffing the Doctor it couldn’t 
have been worse. In fact I think Byrse must have thought 
at last that it was just cheek. At any rate, quite suddenly 
he shut his book and went back to his desk. Then he took 
up the new cane and invited Lannie to stand out. Lannie 
clattered out into the middle of the room, looking pretty 
scared, and held out his haq,d. 

“ Byrse took no notice of the hand. He just went to 
work and gave him over the back some of the most fetching 
strokes I have ever known a chap to get. I don’t like to 
say how many, because, though we all counted, we all made 
it difYerent. Of course nobody likes to see a boy thrashed, 
but what hurt me most was that as soon as ever Byrse be- 
gan to cut in I perceived that poor old Lannie had no jacket 
on underneath his holland blouse. And you know what an 
awfully thin business the back of a waistcoat is ! This time 
of the year we always wear our thickest jackets under 
our blouse ; but, as luck would have it, the day was a very 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


56 

mild one, and Lannie had left off his old coat ; so there was 
precious little between his flesh and that stinging cane. 

‘‘ Well, I shouldn’t like to swear that Lannie didn’t cry : 
at any rate he cried inside — if you know what I mean. It 
was plain enough that the flogging hurt him awfully. His 
* Oh’s ’ weren’t very loud, but you could tell that he 
couldn’t help ’em. He looked frightfully broken, poor old 
chap, when it was all over. So did Byrse, if it comes to 
that: he had hit a jolly deal harder and longer than he 
meant to. He didn’t badger Lannie with any more ques- 
tions that afternoon. And I know that Byrse thought Lan- 
nie had a good thick jacket on, because only the day before 
the beggar had spilt ink all over the front of his blouse and 
had to take it off in school. 

You may say that Lannie deserved all he got,” Harry 
continued — though I had said nothing of the sort — “ and, 
no doubt, he did deserve some licks. It’s a rummy thing, 
though, that you can’t help being sorry for a fellow when 
he’s thrashed — even if he does deserve it. I didn’t really 
blubj you know, when I went to see father after school, 
but I felt choky. You see, I wanted to put a word in for 
Lannie, and so I made some excuse for going to father’s 
study. One can always get on with father — he’s so jolly 
reasonable. And he always listens. Perhaps he saw that 
I was a bit down ; and though he’s awfully busy this week, 
he took me by the hand and made me sit close to him. 

“ So I told him all about the row, for I was afraid of 
Byrse having the first word with dad, and making things 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


S7 


bad for Lannie. I knew father had only seen my brother 
at meals this week and at Slipper-time, and that he didn’t 
quite guess how the land lay. It was all that precious mu- 
sic, I told father, and Chaucer’s story of the little chap who 
had his throat cut ; for, as you know, Lannie is awfully fond 
of that tale. You remember his reciting it for the Guild- 
boys? Not quite as Chaucer wrote it, I think. Somebody 
else’s version, wasn’t it? Yes, of course, Wordsworth’s. 
He’s the ‘ We are Seven ’ man, isn’t he? 

“ Father was as decent as he could possibly be. He said 
how glad he was that I’d told him, and that he quite under- 
stood things. And when I hinted that Lannie had had 
rather a double extra basting, and that he was looking 
fearfully low, father got up and said, ‘ Let us try to find 
him, Harry, and cheer him up a bit.’ I thought that so 
good of father, considering that he was writing against 
time, and that he might have said, ‘ Send him to me ; ’ 
a sort of doubtful message to give a fellow when he’s 
down, and can’t tell what sort of reception he’s going to 
get. But that’s just like father, and, I suppose, like all 
fathers; they don’t send for you; they just go after you 
and find you. 

Well, it was tea-time then, and father and I put our 
heads into the dining-room to see if Lannie was there. He 
wasn’t, but I thought I, could hear his footsteps on the 
stone floor of the entrance-hall. I can generally tell his 
walk, even when I don’t see him, because, you know, he’s 
always got two sets of irons on his^clogs. He was there 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


S8 

all right, walking up and down, and looking very lonely 
and glum. I dare say he was trying to make up his mind 
to face mother and father and the rest of us. ‘ Lannie,’ 
said father, putting an arm round him, ‘ would you bring 
me a cup of tea to my study ; and some for yourself ? * 
You know just how nicely father would say it. Lance 
was off like a shot to get the tray and things, and I went 
to have my tea with the others. Mother rang for some 
buttered toast — which father always pretends to be so 
fond of, though he never takes more than one wee bit; 
but mother knew that Lannie was equal to* any quantity 
of it. 

Father kept him till it was time for night studies, and 
my brother turned up in the school-room looking quite 
jolly, though he was a bit red about the eyes. Of course, 
we didn’t ask him any questions; but we could see that 
everything was all right. Hilary, of course, bossed the 
show, and was jolly nice to Lannie — helping him over 
two or three difficulties, and asking George to give him a 
shove in his Greek. 

'' But it’s all off about his singing at Leeds, and Lannie 
says he’s awfully glad. We’re going to have the thin- 
gummy here some day, if we can manage it; father thinks 
we can. But Lannie is sure to tell you all about it.” 

Lance did tell me all about it; but I shall mention only 
one remark that he made at the end of his story — which 
agreed substantially with Harry’s. 


LANCE IN REQUEST 


59 


‘‘ ’Twasn’t quite the same business, I know,” he said; 
but Chaucer’s little chap risked a lot, didn’t he ? Said 
he didn’t mind being licked three times in an hour if only 
he could learn his Alma. I got only one dose in a whole 
week — though it was rather a strong one.” 




LANCE’S LOSS 


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LANCE’S LOSS. 


Father H o r- 
BURY had un- 
bounded c o n fi- 
dence in the 
power of the Ro- 
sary. What is 
more, he had the 
faculty of mak- 
ing his people 
test the value of 
that power. If 
he met a confes- 
s e d 1 y headless 
man or boy, he 
always said : 

‘‘ Nay, don’t tell 
me you haven’t 
got a pair of 
beads. You 
might almost as well say you haven’t got a soul. What 
you mean is that you’ve deft your rosary at home, or 
lent it, or mislaid it ; or perhaps it’s broken. But of course 
you’ve got one. You’re a Catholic, aren’t you? Well 
then, you’ll find that you have a rosary — somewhere.” 

63 



4 


64 


LANCES LOSS 


And the man or boy nearly always had a hunt for it. If 
he could not find it, he generally made his way to old 
Kitty’s shop and bought one, for he knew that Father 
Horbury was one of those men who have a knack of re- 
ferring to the previous question. 

It was not often that he came across man or boy, woman 
or girl, lacking a pair of beads. What William Lethers 
called half-baked Catholics ” were happily not very com- 
mon in the Dale; now and then, however, one was in evi- 
dence. He or she was generally a cadger — always on 
the look-out for anything that was being given away, from 
a string of beads to a ton of coals. 

It is astonishing how easy it is to maintain a good 
healthy public feeling in a congregation — once it is cre- 
ated; and certainly the number of poor people in Riding- 
dale who were anxious and able to dig, but absolutely and 
consistently ashamed to beg was, to say the least of it, 
above the average. In the same way, and by the creation 
of a similar spirit, people who did not possess a pair of 
beads either concealed the deficiency or took pains to rem- 
edy it as soon as possible. The Catholic who could not 
produce his rosary was not of much account in the Dale. 

But among the younger folk of both sexes the posses- 
sion and the use of beads was as much of course as the 
learning of catechism. And catechism, both at the High 
School and the elementary one, was a very thorough busi- 
ness. Unless he was in retreat or unavoidably absent. 
Father Horbury visited one of his schools every day. The 


LANCES LOSS 


65 


mere meaning of catechism words and the learning by rote 
he left to the care of perfectly competent teachers: what 
he satisfied himself upon was that the boys and girls knew 
their religion, knew the difference between right and wrong, 
knew how to prepare for and make their confession, knew 
how to go to Holy Communion, understood how to fight 
themselves, the world, and the devil. 

One of the Oxford masters at the High School said to 
him once : “ We shall never be able to plead ignorance of 
right and wrong. Father. I only hope we shall escape the 
many stripes of the servant who knew but didn^t do his 
Lord’s will. You make us all moral theologians.” 

I mention these things merely because they have bear- 
ing upon an October incident which ought to be put on 
record. 

Lance Ridingdale had more than one pair of beads, but 
the rosary that he always carried was very dear to him 
because it had been given to him by his mother on the day 
of his First Communion. Several times it had been broken, 
several times it had been lost — and found. When he did 
not wear it round his neck, he kept it in his very safest 
pocket. Nevertheless, one morning when the public Ro- 
sary began in church he could not find his beads. 

He was not greatly disturbed, for he knew by experience 
that both at home and at school anything in the shape of 
lost property was very soon recovered. Understanding the 
temptations of boys in regard to findings,” Father Hor- 
bury had taken very special pains to show that such things 


66 


LANCES LOSS 


were not “ keepings/’ and scarcely a day passed that did 
not see some article or other placed on a master’s desk 
for identification. So scrupulous were some boys in this 
matter that, until the masters began to refuse them, they 
would bring clog-irons shed in the playground, and frag- 
ments of pencil. 

Of course both at home and at school Lance made known 
his loss, but to his great surprise and sorrow the week went 
by and the beads were not returned. He did not like to 
make a fuss about the matter, but he confessed to Maggie 
that he would much rather have lost his new knife than this 
particular pair of beads. Maggie said that, unless for some 
reason or other God didn’t want you to find a lost thing, 
St. Antony always got it for you — if only you went on 
asking him. So Lance went on saying a special prayer to 
St. Antony every day. 

A full fortnight went by when one night just before 
supper Mrs. Ridingdale came to the room where the boys 
were preparing their lessons, and called Lance outside. 

“ My darling, have you any boy at your school named 
Turton-Brown? ” she asked looking at an open letter in 
her hand. 

'' Yes, mother: he came this term. He’s the son of that 
widow lady with a lot of little children. They’ve taken 
the Poplars, you know, the house poor Herbert died in.” 

** Yes, to be sure,” said Mrs. Ridingdale. I really 
must call upon her, though your father tells me she is not 
a Catholic. Do you know the boy, dear ? ” 


LANCES LOSS 


67 


“ Not very much, mother. He’s an awfully shy chap ; 
in fact, he seems a bit afraid of ns. We’ve just shaken 
hands and that’s about all. But of course he’s hardly had 
time to know us.” 

Well, dear, I don’t understand this letter at all. And 
father won’t be home till late. Mrs. Turton-Brown writes 
to me saying that she will be intensely grateful — under- 
lined — if Master Lancelot will call at her house to-night. 
She makes ever so many apologies, but no explanation 
whatever.” 

“ What a funny thing,” laughed Lance. 

It is a little curious, certainly,” mused Mrs. Riding- 
dale ; “ but I think, darling, you’d better go. She, or some- 
body, is evidently in trouble. George may go with you. 
It is not very far, and you will be back by supper-time.” 

George returned in time for supper, but without Lance. 
However, when the latter came back mother joined him in 
the dining-room as he ate his bread and milk and fruit, 
and in his own way Lance told what had happened at the 
Turton-Brown’s. 

“ There’s not much of an entrance-hall in that house, 
mother, as you know; so I couldn’t help seeing into the 
drawing-room when the servant took in my name. Well, 
there was Archie — yes, his name is Archibald — kneel- 
ing in front of his mother and crying like anything. Of 
course George and I both turned away, but the servant 
came out directly and said would I please go in. So I went 
in. I felt rather rummy, mother, but I thought — well. 


68 


LANCE’S LOSS 



I thought of poor Herbert and of you. I didn’t feel like 

laughing the least bit. I remembered ” 

‘‘You had been there yourself — hadn’t you, dear?” 
smiled Mrs. Ridingdale. 

“ I had, mammie. Well, Archie didn’t get up. He just 


LANCE’S LOSS 69 

hid his face in his hands, and I heard him say, " You tell 
him, mother/ Then all in a moment I understood. 

“ ‘ Archie is in great trouble,^ Mrs. Turton-Brown said, 
‘ and he’s afraid he’s done something very wicked. He 
found some beads a fortnight ago, and kept them. He 
knows now that they are yours, and he wants to give them 
back to you, and to ask you to forgive him. He saw you 
talking to a policeman to-day, and he thinks you will have 
him taken up. But I keep telling him that I feel sure you 
won’t, because ’ — well then, mother, she said something 
about seeing me go by her window, and thought I didn’t 
look altogether a nasty sort of chap, or — well, you know, 
mother, the kind of stuff she’d talk. 

“ So I couldn’t help laughing then, and I’m glad I did, 
because that brought Archie off his knees like a shot. I 
told them that Police- Sergeant Murphy was an awfully old 
friend of ours and that I always stopped to have a chat 
with him when I had time. And I said that of course I’d 
never mentioned the beads to him, and that I hadn’t sus- 
pected Archie or anybody else. I thought they were just 
lost, and I was frightfully sorry because they were a pres- 
ent from you on my First Communion. But I said how 
glad I was to get them back, and that of course I forgave 
Archie like anything, and he mustn’t think anything more 
about it and — well, all that sort of thing, mammie. 

‘‘ Then Mrs. Turton-Brown jumped up and thanked me 
and carried on, and I told her that I ought to be going; but 
she begged me so hard to stop and have a chat with Archie, 


70 


LANCES LOSS 


'just to soothe him/ she said — fancy me soothing any- 
body ! — that I thought Fd better. So she left us alone, 
and she found George waiting outside and had a little talk 
with him, and then he ran home. She’s rather nice. 

" Archie told me he’d no idea at first that it was wrong 
to keep things that you found. He said that he’d never 
been to a Catholic school before, and at the school he’d had 
to go to — for when his father died they went to live in 
London — all the boys said that 'findings were keepings.’ 
I asked him if they ever got into trouble, and he said that 
the police were often at the school, and that boys were 
constantly taken out of class and hardly ever came back 
again. It was this that frightened him so when he saw me 
talking to Murphy. He said he’d never had a rosary of 
his own, and he was ashamed to be the only boy at school 
without one. But it was only to-day when Father Flor- 
bury was catechizing us on restitution Archie began to 
understand that he’d no right to the beads. He’d been 
frightfully unhappy ever since. His mother had told me 
that he’d been crying almost ever since he came home, and 
that he couldn’t eat any tea. She said she wouldn’t have 
troubled you with that letter, mother, only Archie was so 
fearfully unhappy she thought he would be ill. I think 
you’d like her. 

" Well, of course, mammie, Archie and I got a bit 
chummy after a time, and when he asked me if I thought 
he had committed mortal sin, and if he ought to go to 
confession to-night, I told him I was quite sure that it 


LANCE’S LOSS 


71 


couldn’t be a mortal sin to keep a pair of beads that he’d 
found in the playground — unless they happened to be very 
valuable — but that of course it was always a good thing 
to go to confession, and Father Horbury would be about 
the church at eight o’clock.” 

Lance paused to take a rosy apple from the dish in front 
of him. 

“ He looked awfully pale, and I could see that he’d been 
crying heaps,” Lance went on, “ and so I told him that 
story you gave us last week, mother, about the little chap 
who couldn’t tell his sin for crying. George has put it into 
verse and I know it by heart. So I repeated it to Archie, 
and then I said I thought he’d pretty nearly washed away 
whatever sin there was in keeping the beads, and after 
that he got quite chirpy. But just as I was coming away 
he said he thought he’d go down to the church and make 
his confession, and I told him that perhaps he wouldn’t 
sleep any the worse for it. So he went, and I came home. 
And now I’ve finished my supper, mother dear, and my 
tale,” Lance said, jumping up in great spirits. “ May I 
give you an arm to the drawing-room, madame,” he 
laughed, imitating the Colonel’s rather stiff bow. 

But mother was not content with an arm; she wanted 
the entire boy. So he gave her both his arms, and she 
gave him hers. 

I will call upon Mrs. Turton-Brown,” she said as 
they passed into the drawing-room. “ How old is Ar- 
chie?” 


72 


LANCE’S LOSS 


“ Can’t be sure, mammie. He’s thin and lanky and I 
fancy tall for his age, but I don’t think he’s more than 
eleven or twelve. At the best of times he’s nervous and 
frightened, but he’ll soon get over that.” 

Instead of that difficult song, dear,” Mrs. Ridingdale 
said as Lance took up a piece of music, suppose you give 
us George’s version of my story — or rather the old 
mediaeval story I told you.” 

George’s slight protest was drowned in his brothers’ 
cheers. 

‘‘ Don’t blush, George,” cried Harry. If you are a 
poet you can’t help it, can you ? ” 

Mr. Baring-Gould has written a much better version, 
mother,” said George modestly. 

'' No doubt, dear,” said his mother, “ but I’m afraid 
Lance doesn’t know it.” 

Lance took up his position on the hearth-rug and recited 

BLOTTED OUT. 

One morn, with slate and book, 

A little scholar took 
His way with downcast look 
Through lane and square: 

Schoolward his steps were bent — 

Yet ere that way he went 
He wished his heart unpent. 

His soul laid bare. 


LANCES LOSS 


73 


He nears the holy pile : 

Through porch and nave and aisle 
He creepeth slowly, while 
Like winter rain 
Flow fast the chilling tears: 

Nor comes the hope that cheers 
As through the grate he peers, 

Nor peers in vain. 

Absorbed in silent prayer 
A priest is seated there 
To make the foul soul fair, 

To bless and heal. 

Confiteor now said. 

The boy doth bow his head — 

Yet cannot for the dread 
His sin reveal. 

With grief his bosom throbs. 

He may not speak for sobs. 

Great storm of sorrow robs 
His power of speech; 

The waiting priest within. 

To whisper all the sin 
And Christ’s sweet pardon win, 
Doth him beseech. 

‘‘ My child the morn is late. 

Shuts soon the cloister gate: 


74 


LANCE’S LOSS 


Write then upon your slate 
This secret sad; 

Thus reading, I’ll unbind, 

And, penance meet assigned, 

God’s mercy shalt thou find 
And pardon glad.” 

Sobbing, the lad doth take 
The means all clear to make 
What fault his soul doth shake; 

He writeth all ; 

There in the dim low light 
His trembling hand doth write. 
Though tears make morning night, 
So fast they fall. 

That slate the aged priest 
Held towards the shining east, 

Yet not one word the least 
Might he there see; 

So to the boy he turned: 

‘‘ Thy tears have washed and burn’d 
What only God discerned. 

And thou art free. 

Go now in holy peace. 

In grace and love increase 
Till all thy life shall cease! 

And do not doubt, 


LANCE’S LOSS 


75 


As tears did wash away 
Thy written words this day, 
The sin that on thee lay 
Is blotted out.” 



LANCE’S NOVEMBER PLOT 




LANCE’S NOVEMBER PLOT. 


The Dale knows 
nothing of black 
and yellow fogs. 

Occasionally in No- 
v e m b e r a white 
mist appears in the 
early morning and 
passes away — 
sometimes to reap- 
pear in the late aft- 
ernoon and make 
the going home of 
school-boys living 
at a distance a less 
pleasant pilgrimage 
than usual. 

The way from the School to the Hall is, of course, short 
and plain enough; but it is astonishing what a difference 
the mist seems to make in the length of the road. And if 
one happens to be walking alone, a thoughtful mood comes 
on quite naturally. 

It was seldom enough that Lance found himself solitary 
at the end of schools, but one November evening he had an 

79 



8o 


LANCETS NOVEMBER PLOT 


errand to do at old Kitty’s shop and — well, Kitty was 
never to be dismissed with a few passing remarks. Happi- 
ly, her gossip was always harmless, and often edifying. 
Kitty can no more help talking of the devotion of the 
month than some people can refrain from abusing their 
neighbours. 

I used to think that the old lady lived simply to give relief 
to the Holy Souls; it was certainly one of the devotions of 
her life. Father Horbury told me once that, in the month 
of November, he never calls upon Kitty if he can avoid it, 
because the very sight of him always moves her to give him 
stipends for Masses. However, he admitted that last year 
his not calling made no difference to her offerings: she 
simply brought them to the sacristy. He remonstrated and 
threatened to refuse them, and then for a week or two a 
fresh boy or girl came to him every other day with five shil- 
lings and a request for Mass (now for forgotten souls, now 
for the soul that had been longest in Purgatory, and so on), 
he or she always answering any question with Please, 
Father, I wasn’t to say who sent it.” 

Lance and Kitty had had many a talk about Herbert 
Tillingborough, the atheist’s son who at his own urgent 
request had been baptized just before his death by Lance. ^ 
To any one else, Lance was most unwilling to speak of it; 
to him^the memory of that death-bed was sad but very 
sweet. He knew that old Kitty and her partner, the lame 
girl, had stormed Heaven for poor Herbert’s soul, and 
^ See Ridingdale Stories, p. 94. 


LANCES NOVEMBER PLOT * 8i 

Lance could never be sure if he ought to be more grateful 
to them for their prayers, or to the Protestant Doctor Nut- 
tlebig for asking him to see the boy before he died. 

Though Kitty was perfectly certain that Herbert’s newly- 
baptized soul had flown straight to Heaven, like the dear 
old inconsistent creature she was she had had three Masses 
said for him this very November. Strongly suspecting the 
fact, Lance had put to her a question so straight that she 
could not evade it. 

“ Oh, it’ll be all right, my dear,” she said to Lance. 
“ I’ve made it all right with our Lord. I told Him that if 
Herbert Tillingborough didn’t want those Masses there was 
plenty o’ poor souls what did. And, Mester Lance, I made 
so bold as to mention the name o’ the husband o’ that poor 
woman what’s livin’ in the very house where Herbert died. 
I doubt me he’ll get no Masses from a Protestant wife — 
though she’s a nice enough lady by all accounts, and wa’ 
very fond on him. Eh, my dear, but it’s a sad affair, that. 
A Protestant father’s bad enough, but a Protestant 
mother — ” 

But she’s bringing up all the children Catholics,” urged 
Lance. 

I know, my love. God bless her, she’ll do her best I’m 
sure. I’m not blamin’ the poor thing. An’ we munna 
blame the dead. God help the man ! She come in t’ other 
day to buy a pair o’ beads for that oldest lad ” — Lance 
pretended to look through the window for a moment — 
“ and she began to talk about her husband, She made me 


82 


• LANCE’S NOVEMBER PLOT 


cry by what she told me. She said it was so pitiful to hear 
him calling out time after time, * Oh, for God’s sake, a 
priest, a priest! Send for a priest! ’ Well, she sent a man 
off on horseback of course ; but then, you see, they had gone 
to live in a place where there was no church and no priest 
for ever so many miles. When the priest got there the poor 
man had been dead for hours. Yes, he’d been throwed 
from his horse out ’untin’, and he only lived about half an 
hour after they brought him home.” 

No wonder perhaps if Lance felt a little sad as he made 
his way home through the November fog. He had not 
seen much of Archie since the night he called upon Mrs. 
Turton-Brown. Archie was in quite a low class and was 
several years younger than Lance. Moreover, the shy, ner- 
vous boy played games very badly, and did not seem to be 
making any friends. He was not at all the kind of fellow 
that Lance cared for, and though the latter thought little 
or nothing of the rosary incident, he did not feel at all in- 
clined to cultivate Archie’s acquaintance overmuch. In 
fact, once or twice Lance had noticed things in young Tur- 
ton-Brown that seemed quite unpardonably weak and child- 
ish. He wept on very small provocation, and, when, in 
Lance’s opinion, there was really nothing to cry over. He 
wept if a boy knocked him over by accident in the field; he 
wept whenever he broke down in a lesson, which was fre- 
quently. Lance was not at all anxious to add to the very 
tiny list of his own antipathies, but the temptation to put 
Archie upon it had now and then been strong. 


LANCE'S NOVEMBER PLOT 83 

But Kitty’s account of the death of Mr. Turton-Brown 
made Lance thoughtful. The circumstances seemed to 
him fearfully sad and quite inexplicable. Why should a 
Cathol-ic marry a Protestant wife? Why should a gentle- 
man who could afford to go hunting make his home six 
miles from the church and priest? Both these questions 
puzzled him exceedingly. He had been taught never to 
suppose that any calamity was a judgment upon the sufferer, 
otherwise he would certainly have thought Mr. Turton- 
Brown’s death a judgment. And now this poor soul had 
nobody to get Masses said for him, perhaps nobody to pray 
for him. It was to be hoped of course that, when he began 
to understand his religion, Archie would not forget his fa- 
ther’s needs, but unfortunately the lachrymose boy had 
never even heard of the catechism until he came to Riding- 
dale. 

As Lance plodded along in the now darkening night, he 
tried to think if there was anything that he could do for 
Archie without exactly making him a friend. What the 
boy wanted was a little coaching in his catechism ; but even 
if Lance had had time for this private tutoring he did not 
feel much inclination. Besides, he had so many irons in 
the fire just now that he dared not add to them: his father 
had cautioned him not to undertake too many duties. The 
winter was coming on, and the boys’ guild with its many 
meetings and rehearsals and entertainments, to say nothing 
of the choir practices, swallowed every particle of evening 


84 


LANCE’S NOVEMBER PLOT 


leisure. Christmas, too, was approaching, and the home 
plays were in preparation. 

Just as he was nearing the park gates an idea came to 
him. He had noticed that the only member of the Riding- 
dale family with whom Archie seemed always quite at 
home was Gareth. Lance did not wonder at this, for 
Gareth was not only a very sympathetic little chap, but had 
a quite peculiar faculty of making himself friendly with 
strangers. He was still young enough not to be afraid of 
anybody, or overconscious of himself. With great pleasure 
Lance had noticed lately that his young brother was quite 
the leader of the first form — not only in their games but 
in their acts of piety. Father Horbury had begged for just 
a little extra prayer for the Holy Souls, if only one Hail 
Mary, and had suggested that during the month of Novem- 
ber some boys might be able to say an extra decade of the 
Rosary. A small statue of Our Lady of Lourdes that had 
been put up for October in one of the corridors was allowed 
to remain: Lance had seen Gareth kneeling at it before 
morning school, rosary in hand, and noted that in a day or 
two most of the boys followed his example. 

Lance did not guess that Gareth was really a small model 
of himself, and that the same mixture of fearlessness and 
affectionateness was a part of the moral equipment of both. 
Many remarked that the ten-year-old Lance had exactly re- 
sembled Gareth — who was not by any means the youngest 
of the family, though the most youthful of the six who were 
now at school. 


LANCETS NOVEMBER PLOT 


8S 


“ He’s the very chap ! ” Lance said to himself as he 
turned into the park and quickened his pace. For a young 
’un he’s the coolest hand I know.” 

That night Lance talked the matter over with mother 
and father, and they were both quite willing that Gareth 
should give what help he could to Archie. Mrs. Ridingdale 
had already called upon Mrs. Turton-Brown, to the latter’s 
consolation. 

“ You see, mammie,” said Lance, ‘‘ the proper thing 
would be for Archie’s mother to hear his catechism every 
day, wouldn’t it ? That’s really what I thought of. Might 
do her good, mightn’t it? At any rate, she’d get to know 
something about her children’s religion. And if you think 
I may. I’ll just tell Gareth to suggest that to Archie. Of 
course she couldn’t explain the catechism, but that doesn’t 
matter. Father Horbury does that splendidly; but she 
could hear Archie repeat it every day, couldn’t she ? ” 

Mrs. Ridingdale smiled and said : My darling, I can see 
that you have some beautiful design upon her soul. God 
bless you ! ” 

O yes, I think it’ll be all right,” Gareth said to Lance 
as they were finishing breakfast a day or two afterwards. 

Archie’s a bit slow, but he’s not a bad sort. Yes, I like 
her. She made me promise to* have tea with them to-mor- 
row. And of course I told her what you said.” 

“ What was that, Gareth ? ” asked Lance, a little alarmed. 

“ Oh, I didn’t say you said it, Lannie ; but I said mothers 


86 


LANCE’S NOVEMBER PLOT 


always heard their boys’ catechism, and that if she went 
over it with him at night I’d hear him every morning before 
school. I said I thought it a good idea, ’cause then she’d 
be learning it too.” 

^‘Gareth!” exclaimed the horrified Lance, “how could 
you? She’ll think — she’ll think we want to convert her.” 

“ Well,” ejaculated Gareth, fixing wide open eyes upon 
Lance, “ so we do — don't we ? ” And the small boy helped 
himself to a large apple. 

The Squire had been an amused listener to this break- 
fast-table dialogue, and could not forbear quoting to himself 
a line of Keats — 

Oh, what a power has white simplicity! 

“ Gareth, my dear,” said his father as they left the table 
and he swung the little boy to his shoulder, “ you are not 
yet quite ripe for the diplomatic corps : but there is a better 
Corps than that — isn’t there, old man ? ” 

“ Oh, father ! ” exclaimed Gareth, “ William Lethers 
says there’s a man at Timington who’s growing apples that 
haven’t any core at all. Won’t you get a tree or two, 
father ? ” 

“ Most certainly I will,” said Mr. Ridingdale, “ if he’ll 
sell me some.” 

“ I don’t see anything to snigger at,” remarked Gareth 
as Lance suddenly exploded with laughter. 

“ That’s because you’re not yet a Snig,” chuckled Lance 
as he began to collect his school-books. 


Bp " " 

LANCE’S NOVEMBER PLOT 87 

'' Seems to me,” said the Squire, “ that for some things 
a Snag is as good as a Snig.” 

“ Better, father,” responded Lance. 





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LANCE AND MRS. PRAGGIT 




LANCE AND MRS. PRAGGIT. 

(by GEORGE RIDINGDALE.) 

Probably we are all very different at different times; but 
Lannie in church and Lannie in Sniggery appear to have 
scarcely anything in common. Once he gets a surplice on, 
his whole appearance seems to change. He might just have 
stepped out of a Della Robbia picture. And when he begins 
to sing a solo — well, you generally pretend to have a cold 
in the head. 

But you should see him when church is over. He just 

91 


92 


LANCE AND MRS, PRAGGIT 


manages to bottle up his effervescence until he gets on to 
the road, and then it comes out with a rush. Delightfully 
funny things happen sometimes. In the summer a great 
many strangers come to our church from various parts of 
the Dale — partly I think because our music is famous. 
Very often they wait to catch sight of Lance and to speak 
to him. Several times people have offered him money, but 
of course he did not take it. Once a five-pound note came 
to him by post, anonymously. 

Well, one Sunday not very long ago, Lance had stopped 
behind for something or other and was running down the 
church-steps at full speed, making no end of a clatter with 
his clogs, when he nearly ran into a carriage which was 
standing at the gate. There were two ladies in it, and one 
who was very richly dressed looked at him crossly and 
beckoned to him. He snatched his hands out of his pockets, 
took off his cap and apologized, but she only frowned at 
him. 

“ I see quite well,” she began, “ that you are not one of 
the angels I have just been listening to; but perhaps you can 
tell me something about the boy who sang the solos this 
morning. Do you know him ? ” Lance said he knew the 
boy well. Then she went on to say that she felt quite sure 
that the singer she had heard was a gentleman’s son, and 
Lance agreed. She talked so much and so fast that she 
gave him very little opportunity of saying more than “ yes ” 
and “ no; ” otherwise she would soon have guessed to whom 
she was speaking. He was much tickled of course, and once 


LANCE AND MRS. PRAGGIT 


93 


or twice he had to hold his head down very low in order to 
hide a grin. 

However, she rattled on like anything about '' the darling 
angel,” and hoped Lance would try to model his conduct on 
so very superior a boy. She was good enough to say that 
of course my brother could not help it if his parents made 
him wear such noisy shoes ; she only hoped that they had not 
been put on him for punishment. He seemed rather respec- 
table for a poor boy, she added, but she was afraid he was a 
great trouble to his mother. She even hinted that at some 
time or other he must have run away from home, and that 
he had been put into clogs in order to prevent a repetition 
of the offense. Then she took out a note-book and pencil 
and asked Lance to give her the name and address of the 
singing angel,” and of course he did so. She started a 
little when he mentioned Ridingdale Hall, and asked her 
companion if Ridingdale was not the family name of Lord 
Dalesworth. The companion said yes,” and added that 
this must be the Ridingdale who had turned Papist years 
and years ago. 

Then the two of them had quite a discussion about the 
family, and Lance, standing at the carriage door all this 
time with his cap in his hands, had to turn round in order 
to hide his laughter. He said it hurt him awfully to keep 
it in — the more so as they were trying to find some decent 
pretext for calling upon us. It seemed that the old lady 
had once met our mother at a ball somewhere, and had 
known Lady Constance, my father’s mother, quite well. 


94 


LANCE AND MRS. PRAGGIT 


Lance wanted awfully to get ^way, but the two of them 
clacked on, taking no notice of him. At last, however, the 
old lady shut up her note-book, and turning to Lance took 
out her purse. “ If I give you sixpence,” she began, “ I 

hope you won’t ” She did not get any further than 

that. 

“ Pardon me, madam,” Lance said drawing back from the 
carriage, with his head well in the air — ‘‘I don’t take 
money from strangers. Good morning ! ” Then he was off 
like a shot. 

I know so well how he would do it. I have seen him 
under very similar circumstances. 

The old lady had kept him such a time that though he ran 
his hardest he did not overtake any of us. But the carriage 
overtook and passed him very quickly. When he got home 
he found it standing at the front entrance. The lady and 
her companion were with my father and mother in the big 
drawing-room. 

As well as he could for side-holding laughter, Lance told 
us the story. We were all in Sniggery, ready and waiting 
for dinner. 

“ If anybody has to go to the drawing-room/’ said Lance, 
“ it really mustn’t be me. I couldn’t do it, you know.. Be- 
sides, it would be so rough on her. You see, she gave me 
no chance of explaining things. I couldn’t get a word in 
edgeways.” 

Hilary said teasingly that of course Lance would have to 
go to the drawing-room. Had not the ladies called on pur- 


LANCE AND MRS. PRAGGIT 95 

pose to see him? Harry took up the chaff and suggested 
that the old lady would probably make it a shilling if Lance 
only behaved nicely. Lance declared stoutly that nothing 



less than a positive command from either father or mother 
would bring him face to face again with that old thing.” 
'' No,” he said in his determined way, it really wouldn’t 



96 


LANCE AND MRS. PRAGGIT 


be fair to her. Hilary and Harry are in Etons and shoes : 
they are all right. Let them go if somebody must.” 

Wouldn’t take you long to change into Etons, Lannie,” 
said Willie. 

‘‘ Can’t get the jacket on. And if I could the sleeves are 
halfway up my arms.” 

'' Well that tweed suit is all right,” I said, ‘‘ and if you 
haven’t any shoes you can put on slippers.” 

“ I’m not going to be gushed over by those two women, 
and called an angel, and asked how old I am, and be made to 
sing when I’m dying with hunger,” he declared with some 
heat. It just makes me ill when people carry on like that. 
Besides, when she thought I wasn’t a singer, and that I was 
a poor boy, she*wasn’t even civil. Hate that sort ! ” 

The sudden appearance of Sarah on the lawn acted like 
an electric shock upon Lance. Before any of us knew what 
was happening he had vanished. He knew for whom Sarah 
was coming. 

Lannie is quite right,” said Hilary, and we all agreed 
with him. But when Sarah came up to the door of Snig- 
gery and said to him, Please, sir, the mistress wants you 
and Master Lance to go to the drawing-room at once,” well, 
Hilary looked rather rummy. But after remarking to 
Sarah, ‘‘ Master Lance isn’t here, you see,” he rose immedi- 
ately. ‘‘ Better look round, you fellows, and see if you can 
find him. But,” he added with a laugh as he began to run 
across the lawn, “ I don’t think you’ll succeed.” 

The impossibility of finding Lance when he does not wish 


LANCE AND MRS. PRAGGIT 


97 


to be found, is a proverb with all of us. Like all really good 
and great people, Lance likes sometimes to be quite alone. 
He is exceedingly fond of society all the same, and I need 
not say that every kind of society is fond of him. But not 
one of us can efface himself quite so thoroughly as Lance 
when he wishes to think out something or to have a really 
quiet time. He had disappeared round the back of Snig- 
gery where there is a regular labyrinth of shrubbery that 
leads to the big kitchen-garden, and from which you can get 
to the stable-yard. Once within the fastnesses of the hay- 
lofts he was fairly secure. 

So Harry and Willie and I strolled through the shrubbery 
in a leisurely sort of way, and not at all keen about finding 
the dear little angel ” who was wanted in the drawing- 
room. For the more we discussed the matter the more we 
were convinced that if mother knew all the circumstances 
she would not wish us to find him. 

Our dinner that day was merrier than usual. The one 
o’clock bell had frightened away the two strangers. Mother 
had asked them to remain, but they were staying at the 
Krumptons, four or five miles away, and said they must be 
back for a two o’clock luncheon. We boys found it hard to 
conceal our delight at their going, and I don’t think father 
and mother regretted it very much. Lance had turned up 
for dinner just as the carriage drove away. 

But this is what pleased us most. The strangers were 
standing in the entrance-hall expressing their delight at see- 


98 


LANCE AND MRS. PRAGGIT 


ing my mother again, saying how deeply disappointed they 
were not to have seen her darling singing-boy and hoping 
that on a future occasion they might be more fortunate — 
when who should run in from the park but Alfie and Gareth. 
Hilary says they rushed in like two young whirlwinds, mak- 
ing a frightful row with their clogs on the stone floor of the 
hall and, except that their blouses and collars were clean, 
looking about as un-Sunday-like as two small boys could 
possibly look. 

Hilary declares that the old lady’s face was a delightful 
study as she put up her glasses and looked them over from 
head to foot. It took her several seconds to get over the 
shock, and though she did her best to gush a little she 
seemed to become thoughtful and absent-minded. Indeed 
she must have been reminded of the boy in clogs who had 
so lately stood before her, and whom she had so severely 
lectured. However, she got out of the difficulty by making 
hasty tracks for her carriage, in which she was whisked 
away from the Hall. 

Lance told his part of the story again at dinner; both 
father and mother were much amused. They agreed that 
Lance had acted rightly in making himself scarce, though 
my father laughingly quoted that saying about ‘‘ living to 
fight another day.” 

'' But you don’t really think she’ll come again, do you, 
father ? ” Lance asked anxiously. 

“Well, she said she would, you know: and from what 
I saw of her I should say that she is a very determined old 


LANCE AND MRS. PRAGGIT 


99 


lady. She is staying at the Krumptons for a month or 
more.'’ 

Lance asked for a second helping of beef, but he looked 
thoughtful and concerned. 

‘‘ Never mind, dear,” mother said, ‘‘ the embarrassment 
needn’t be on your side. I am sure you were not rude to 
her in any way — were you ? ” 

‘‘ O no, mother. I wanted to explain awfully, only I 
couldn’t chip in — I mean, mother, she gave me no chance. 
I stood there for nearly ten minutes with my cap off, and 
she never told me to put it on. Then she and the other lady 
began to chatter to one another just as though I wasn’t there. 
I did think once of running away when they began to talk 
about grandmama, but I thought that wouldn’t be polite. 
And you know yourself, mother, how she goes on. It’s just 
like a ” 

Tornado,” put in Hilary as Lance paused to help him- 
self to potatoes. 

Yes, that’s it. And of course when she began to open 
her purse and talk about sixpences, I had to skedad — to say 
‘ Good morning.’ ” 

We all knew that Lance could not be rude if he tried 
his hardest, and though we teased him a good deal during 
dinner, he saw that we were laughing with him rather than 
at him. And I must say that our chaff had no bad effect 
upon his appetite. He says that singing always makes him 
very hungry; but it was just as well that the old lady did 
not see her singing-cherub feeding. 


LOFC. 


100 


LANCE AND MRS. PRAGGIT 


Well, two weeks passed by and she did not put in an ap- 
pearance. However, Lance and she were destined to meet 
again, unexpectedly indeed, but under more favorable cir- 
cumstances. 

Every summer Colonel Ruggerson gives several garden- 
parties, and the first of them, as well as the last, is rather 
a big affair. Mother and father, Hilary, Harry, Lance, 
Willie and I are always invited : the Snags and other young- 
sters have one all to themselves the next day. My brothers 
and I help the Colonel all we can, and he says we are very 
useful. Lance of course is in request for singing, and 
though, poor chap, he suffers horribly in anticipation he 
always manages to enjoy himself before the end. He does 
not sing out of doors, but the moment people hear that he is 
going to begin they crowd the terrace outside the open 
French windows as well as the big drawing-room itself. 
You should see the poor chap tremble as he stands there 
facing the crowd, and looking rather small beside so many 
grown-up people — though he is big for his age. He says 
his lips get so dry that he is afraid they won’t open ; but once 
he begins I think he must forget the people altogether. The 
stillness is so great that one is afraid to move a limb, and 
almost to breathe. There is always a lovely string-band on 
the lawn, but when it plays people seem to talk their loudest. 
When Lance begins to sing there is not so much as a whis- 
per. Even the bandsmen get as near to the house as they 
can in order to hear him. 

But his worst time is when he has finished. The ladies 


LANCE AND MRS. PRAGGIT lor 

clap their hands and tap their fans, and carry on, while 
Lannie looks for all the world like a hunted hare trying to 
find covert. He generally gives what they call a song-cycle, 
or else two or three short songs one after the other, and 
then he tries to escape. He never succeeds, for people gush 
over him and hand him about from one to another as if he 
were — he says “ a pet poodle,” but I say, a strayed seraph. 



People always try to make him promise that he will go and 
see them, but he refers them all to mother or father. They 
want him to go to their own garden-parties all over the 
place, and some of them implore mother to let him stay with 
them in the holidays. He gets rosier and rosier as they 
crowd about him and pet him, and use up all the adjectives 
in the language in praising him. They fetch him lemonade. 


102 


LANCE AND MRS. PRAGGIT 


and cakes and sweets, and try their best to make him ill ; and 
all the time he is wishing that they would go to Jericho or 
that he could slip away for a swim in the river. 

Then after a time you see father striding through the 
crowd — he is generally a head taller than anybody present 
— and he rescues Lannie from the people’s clutches and 
takes him to some quiet room to rest for a while. And he 
is so grateful. Once — it is a year or two ago really — 
Lannie cried when he got out of the room, and begged 
father to let him go home. But father coaxed and soothed 
him and told him to be brave, and he came back all smiles 
and sang some solos from Wagner’s operas in a way that 
made other people cry. 

However, this is by the way. I want to tell you what 
happened at this particular garden-party. 


THE COLONEL’S PARTY 










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THE COLONEL’S PARTY. 


(by GEORGE RIDINGDALE.) 

On the afternoon of the 
garden-party we were afl 
at the Chantry in good 
time, for unless the Col- 
onel happens to have a sis- 
ter or a niece staying with 
him he asks my mother 
to act as hostess, and in 
various little ways we help 
her. The Colonel says 
that if we did not back 
him up he could not give 
these big affairs, and that 
his guests are really our guests : a very nice way of putting 
it, for of course we cannot afford to give such parties. 

Lannie was in splendid voice that day, and I never saw 
him look jollier. He wore a new suit of Etons and a new 
pair of shoes, and certainly no boy at the party looked half 
so nice as my brother. We were all very proud of him as 
he finished his songs from Hansel and Gretel, and his audi- 
ence was, if anything, more enthusiastic than ever. Curi- 

105 



io6 


THE COLONEVS PARTY 


ously enough it was only just as he had finished his first per- 
formance that on looking round I saw Hilary listening to 
an elderly lady whose rich dress and excited way of talking 
put me in mind of our visitor of a fortnight ago. I felt 
quite sure that it was the lady — her name was Praggit — 
who had lectured Lance and offered him sixpence, and I 
wondered very much if she recognized him. For my part 
I don’t think he looks a bit more of a gentleman in Etons 
than in knickerbocker-suit and clogs ; but perhaps people who 
worship clothes, and judge others by their dress, think dif- 
ferently. I knew that Lance had not seen her, because I 
had been with him just before he began to sing. She was 
not sitting in front of him but at the side, and it was unlike- 
ly that he would catch sight of the old lady while he was 
singing his songs. 

I was outside the room, standing wedged in close to the 
big doors that lead to the conservatory. It is a place from 
which one can get a good view, and as the applause broke 
out I promised myself some fun in seeing the meeting be- 
tween Lannie and Mrs. Praggit. However, to my great 
astonishment, the cheering had scarcely ended when my 
father came striding through the crowd and taking Lance 
up in his arms put him on his shoulder and marched him out 
of the room. I saw that my father was laughing and treat- 
ing the thing as a joke, but though I heard many people 
cry out, “Oh Mr. Ridingdale, don't take him away!” he 
only laughed the more and quickened his pace. I ran out 
of the conservatory and around to the entrance-hall, and 


THE COLONEL'S PARTY 


107 


found them in the Colonel’s study. Both of them were 
laughing like anything, and Lance had his arm around 
father’s neck. “ That was just splendid, daddie,” Lance 
was saying, “ a regular bit of strategy.” He leaned against 
father like a child who is tired but very happy. Yes,” 
said my father, I fancy the enemy was routed this time. 
What do you think, George ? ” he asked me as I went up to 
them and congratulated Lannie. I said it was delightful 
and was just going to ask -father if he had caught sight of 
Mrs. Praggit, when I remembered that probably Lance had 
not, and that perhaps father had rescued him so that he 
should not meet her — at any rate until he had sung again. 
Then mother sailed into the room looking so nice in her 
summer-party dress, and of course father had to give up 
Lance to her. I need not say what she did to him. Father 
and I left them alone and went out on to the lawn to hear 
the band; but just as we left the room I heard Lance say, 
‘‘ O mammie darling, if I must be petted I want it always 
to be by you and father.” 

We soon came across the Colonel looking anxious, but 
pleased. “ Won’t ask you where Lannie is,” he said. 
(When he is pleased with my brother he always calls him 
Lannie. ) “ They’re asking for hirh all over the place. Old 
woman from Krumpton’s — can’t remember her name — 
she called on you, y’know — is offering reward to anybody 
who’ll bring him to her.” 

We all kept clear of Mrs. Praggit, but several people tried 
to bribe me into telling them where Lance was. When 


io8 THE COLONELS PARTY 

father left me he said, “ Tell them all that Lannie is resting, 
but that he will sing again at a quarter to five.” 

The fact was that Lance was going to sing several rather 
difficult songs from Tristan and Isolde, and father knew that 
as he had never sung them in public before he was a little 
nervous. My father also knew how Lance hated to be 
petted by a crowd of people, and how hard it was to go on 
saying No, thank you ” again and again to the ladies who 
wanted to stuff him with all sorts of things that are bad for 
the voice. So father had taken the bull by the horns — at 
any rate, he had put the bird on his shoulder and carried 
him off. 

The Chantry grounds are always lovely : to-day they were 
at their best, and the weather could not have been more per- 
fect. The band played some awfully good music — too 
good, the Colonel said for the chatterers and gossipers who 
were drowning all the pianissimo parts. However, when 
Tschaikowsky’s Casse-Noisette was started, some of them 
began to listen. The musicians had come all the way from 
Leeds and were really first-rate. The Colonel said that it 
was like giving cherries to pigs — providing good music for 
a crowd like this: next year he would get a brass band. 
This, he said, made an admirable accompaniment to mere 
clack. 

However, when the time came for Lance to sing again, 
the crowd swept back to the terrace like one woman, and 
the lawn was completely deserted. The drawing-room and 
conservatory were of course reserved for ladies; the men 


THE COLONEL’S PARTY 


109 


stood in big groups by the open windows without making a 
sound. Lance came in with Dr. Byrse, who always plays 
his accompaniments, and made his bow. He did not look 
at anybody, neither did he hide his face in the music sheets. 
He looked very pale, I thought, and I could see the music 
trembling in his hands. There was rather a long introduc- 
tion on the piano and then he began. 

I am not going to describe it because you know the music 
very well; but the moment he started it was clear that he 
was master of every bar. He scarcely looked at the notes 
but kept turning his eyes to the open window. He told me 
afterwards that there was a lovely bit of sky resting on the 
top of a big elm on the lawn, and that looking at it helped 
him a great deal. It was only when he got to one perfectly 
awful fortissimo passage that he followed the printed music 
very closely. Perhaps it was well that he did so, for just 
in the most thunderous part a lady fainted. Luckily she 
was behind the singer and he knew nothing of it. Dr. Byrse 
was pounding away at the piano like a man demented, but 
Lannie’s voice rang out above it all — grandly — superbly ! 

Then there came a great lull and it seemed as though 
Dr. Byrse were playing dream-music. Lannie started again 
with a pianissimo so soft that it sounded like a mere whis- 
per of lovely melody. This was the really difficult part for 
him, but Dr. Byrse said afterwards that throughout this 
soft and dreamy aria every note was as true as it could be. 
It finished so quietly that the last passage sounded like a 
hushed sigh. 


10 


THE COLONEUS PARTY 


You never saw anything like the enthusiasm of that 
well-dressed mob. If my father had appeared on the scene 
he would have had no chance of rescuing Lannie. The 
moment he had finished, half a dozen ladies rushed forward 
and surrounded him, but, old as she was, Mrs. Praggit was 
first and foremost. He was so completely swamped that 
until, at the Colonel’s suggestion, the crowd moved out on 
to the lawn I could not see what she was doing, but as they 
came out in a sort of procession with Lance in the middle, 
I caught sight of something shiny on his wrist and I knew 
that she had fastened on him her own gold bracelet. 

Poor Lannie! William Lethers’ expression, ‘^Looking 
nine ways for Sunday,” is the only one that describes my 
brother’s appearance at that moment. He was taking little 
quick, shy glances at each person who spoke to him — 
though they seemed to be all talking at once — and then 
dropping his head as though he wanted to hide it in the 
earth. He was no longer pale. Quite a dozen times in 
crossing the lawn he put his hands in his pockets and took 
them out again — trying always to hide that wretched 
bracelet of gold that would not be hidden. A handcuff of 
steel would not have hurt him anything like so much. 

'' Jolly hard lines ! ” exclaimed Harry, coming up to me 
with Willie. “ Collared and fettered, poor chap, by a lot of 
old ” 

‘‘Couldn’t we rescue him?” I asked. 

“ Father says better let them have him for a few minutes. 
Most of them will be going directly — it’s getting late. It’s 


THE COLONEUS PARTY 


III 


good discipline for Lannie, though it’s pretty sharp. He 
tried all he knew to prevent them putting that bracelet on 
him, but two or three of those women actually held him 
while the old hag of the sixpence snapped it on. Mother 
says there are two or three diamonds in it, and she’s just 
consulting with father as to what she shall do. Father’s 
awfully savage.” 

Yes,” said Hilary, coming up at that moment, “ this is 
a pretty kettle of fish. It’s not only the bracelet, you know, 
they’ve given him quite a lot of things. I saw them slip- 
ping all sorts of rubbish into his pockets while the bracelet 
was being put on. I don’t think Lannie knows anything 
about them. He was just bewildered. I believe young 
Mrs. Featherbough gave him a little watch : I know she put 
something in his waistcoat pocket. And I saw Lady Bid- 
dleswell shoving a gold bon-bon box into his trouser-pocket. 
Dare say he’s a regular walking jeweller’s shop if one only 
knew. Ah ! thank goodness they’re clearing ofY ! ” 

One carriage had already driven away, and the Krump- 
ton party, including the bracelet-lady, were mst getting into 
their mail-phaeton. 

I only hope they won’t kidnap Lannie ” — Willie said 
it rather anxiously — “ I can’t see him anywhere just now.” 

‘‘ O trust Lannie not to be kidnapped,” Hilary laughed. 
'' I’d like to see ’em try it. They’d find that they’d caught 
a tartar instead of a cherub. He’d fight like a young tiger. 
No, they wouldn’t play such an idiotic game as that. He’s 
got mixed up in the crowd, that’s all.” 


112 


THE COLONEUS PARTY 


'' Look at all those people round mother and father ! ” 
exclaimed Harry. See father shaking his head. I bet I 
know what they’re trying to do. They want to carry Lance 
off to dinner with them, or something. I’ll just stroll 
round and see the fun.” 

We all started round, and without going up to the group 
we could hear somebody saying, ‘‘ O Mrs. Ridingdale, do 
let him come ! We’ll take the greatest care of him I assure 
you, and send him home in the carriage long before ten.” 

Of course father and mother would not hear of it, and 
though they were both smiling I could see that father was 
annoyed. Lance was there — his arm well hooked in his 
mother’s. He seemed to be kicking a hole in the lawn with 
the toe of his shoe, but I could not see his face. 

It took the people half an hour or so to clear off, but as 
we were all going to dine with the Colonel at seven o’clock, 
we did not go home. And really in spite of everything we 
had a jolly night. The first thing we did when we found 
ourselves alone was to help Lance clear out his pockets. 

Hilary was quite right. Besides the gold bracelet — it 
had three blazing diamonds in it — he had got a tiny silver 
watch, a gold bon-bon box, a gold pencil-case, and a purse 
with two half-sovereigns in it. Lance took them one by 
one and put them into mother’s lap. He had not the least 
idea who had given him any of the things, except the brace- 
let. 

We asked him if he thought Mrs. Praggit recognized 
him as the boy in clogs she had scolded so vigorously. He 


THE COLONEL’S PARTY 


113 

said he was quite sure that she did. “ She just wanted to 
make it up, you see. And,” he continued, she made Mrs. 
Krumpton badger mother ever so much to let me go and 
stay with them for the rest of the week. Thank goodness, 
she’s going away next Wednesday. I don’t suppose the 
others would have given me things if she hadn’t started it : 
they never did before — at least not expensive things.” 

‘‘ Still, Lannie,” I reminded him, “ you have found things 
in your pockets before.” 



“01 know, chocolates and things. Yes, and those half- 
crowns last year. That was rather fun. I’m sorry Sir 
Harry Fisher wasn’t here this year. He’s abroad. I like 
him — though he can’t conjure a bit. I know how all his 
tricks are done. Fact, I can do some of ’em better than 
he can. But he’s an awfully good sort. He just waited 
till the ladies cleared off and then came up and shook 
hands and said, 'Thank you, my boy, thank you;’ but I 
saw tears in his eyes as he turned away. And when he 


THE COLONELS PARTY 


1 14 

began to conjure and asked if anybody would hold some- 
thing for him, I jumped up immediately.” 

We all remembered this very well, for when Sir Harry 
had nearly finished, he pretended to take half-crowns out of 
the back of my brother’s neck, then out of his sleeve, and 
then out of every part of his clothing — just as conjurers 
do, you know. But the joke was all on Lannie’s side, for 
when the performance was over he found a half-crown 
stowed away in every one of his pockets! 

Well, we had a delightfully cosy little dinner with the 
Colonel that night, and the question of Lannie’s presents 
was argued out at some length. It was in some Ayays a 
difficult matter because, you see, we were the Colonel’s 
guests just as much as the people who had given my brother 
the jewelry. After a time, both mother and father said 
that they were willing to leave the whole question in the 
Colonel’s hands. Of course the opportunity of chaffing 
Lannie was too good to be lost — by the Colonel. He said 
that if the bracelet were accepted it must be worn con- 
stantly, and he thought Lannie ought to put it next his 
heart. But my brother can stand any amount of teasing 
when he is at dinner, and that particular night he was very 
hungry indeed. 

In the end, the Colonel decided that the things ought to 
be kept. The giving of them was idiotic, he said, and 
under the circumstances, rather bad form ; but he was glad 
Lannie had made such stupid folk enthusiastic. He couldn’t 
go about asking people, “ Here, I say, did you give that lad 


THE COLONEUS PARTY 


II5 

this or that ? ” And he was sure my father wouldn’t like 

to do it either. As for that bracelet woman ” 

We never heard what he was going to say about the lady 
of the bracelet. I fancy he caught my mother’s eye and 
checked himself. 
















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LANCE’S NAUGHTINESS. 


I. 

There was no denying it. You might 
palliate it as much as you liked; you 
might excuse it; you might try to ex- 
plain it away; but the fact stared you 
in the face. It could not be concealed. 

To every eye and ear it was too much 
in evidence. It met you at every turn 
and made you gasp. Even Mrs. Rid- 
ingdale had to admit it — and this is 
a serious statement. 

What was the fact ? It was — and I 
write it with much more than reluc- 
tance — it was that Lance Ridingdale*. 
was behaving very naughtily : had been 
doing so for several days. 

Can’t think what’s come over him,” Hilary was saying 
to the rest as they took their seats in Sniggery. “ Some- 
thing’s got to be done, you know. A sheet of foolscap 
wouldn’t nearly hold his misdemeanors of the past week. 
Not that I’ve written ’em down; I hate doing that. But 
he’s got to be checked, and that’s a fact. None of ’em is 



120 


LANCE'S NAUGHTINESS 


serious enough to send him to father about. It’s rather 
the number than the weight of the offences. Only they 
mustn’t go on.” 

“ It’s just one of his fits, you know,” Harry suggested. 
He’ll come round again all right, you see. He’s liable to 
that sort of thing. So am I, for that matter. You know, 
Hillie, you've come to years of discretion, or something.” 

''I think, it’s the sunshine,” George remarked with a 
quiet smile. There’s a lot of Ihe poet in Lannie, and this 
scrumptious weather makes him giddy. Sort of intoxica- 
tion, you know; I noticed the same thing this time last 
year.” 

Willie Murrington looked concerned, but said nothing. 
In a private conference with Hilary he had already ex- 
hausted his budget of excuses for his foster-brother’s con- 
duct. 

When Jane and Sarah begin to complain,” Hilary 
resumed, “ it’s about time somebody called the young man 
to order.” 

“ I’ll bet they didn’t complain to you," laughed Harry. 

“ No, I wish they had. But I overheard both of them 
saying that something or other was really too bad of Master 
Lance. And they spoke as if they meant it. By the way, 
has anybody seen the young scamp since break fast-time ? ” 

Bang! 

An explosion in the extremely near neighbourhood of • 
Sniggery was not at all the answer to his question expected 
by Hilary ; it was the only one he received. The four boys 


LANCE’S NAUGHTINESS 


121 


were out of the summer-house in no time. A blinding 
smoke met them at the back of Sniggery. Lying on the 
ground was a toy cannon, hot to the touch. Traces of a 
thin train of gunpowder ran along the grass to an opening 
in the shrubbery. 

‘‘ The beggar ! ’’ exclaimed Hilary. ‘‘ And of course 
he’s hiding in the thick of the shrubbery! Well, look here, 
you fellows, we’ve got to catch him somehow. If we spend 
the morning over it, we must find him. I shall have to 
order you chaps to help me.” 

“ All right,” responded Harry. ‘‘ But j^ou’ll put him on 
trial when he’s copped? We ought to have some compen- 
sation, you know,” added Harry, who rather fancied him- 
self in the part of counsel for the prosecution. 

“ Certainly. But let’s distribute ourselves. We must 
cut him off from the stable-yard, you know, or it’s all up. 
You take that end, George. You, Willie, stop here and lie 
low. He may run back for his cannon. You come with 
me, Harry, and beat about the shrubbery. If he doesn’t 
surrender, we’ll play on him with the garden-hose.” 

It was not the game that they had intended to play on 
this holiday morning, but it was one that contained possi- 
bilities. Moreover, a trial by jury was sure to follow it — 
if they could catch the delinquent. The shrubbery was an 
appalling place to tackle, they knew that very well. There 
was so much of it, and the central portion was density 
itself. The shrubs were very high, very thickly planted, 
and covered an acre of ground. The shape was curiously 


122 


LANCES NAUGHTINESS 


irregular, and it was intersected here and there with path- 
ways that ran from the lawn to the kitchen-garden, and 
from the scullery to the stables. The boys quite realized 
that they had hard work before them. 

Lance — it is of no use my pretending that Lance was 
not the firer of the cannon — Lance had one policy in re- 
gard to hiding — one born of much experience. It was to 
select the safest possible place and the darkest, and to re- 
main there. He was “ fleet of foot as the fleet-foot kid,” 
and could give his brothers trouble in the open; still he 
knew that once they sighted him his capture was only a 
matter of time. 

By dint of much crawling on all-fours he had forced his 
way to the very heart of the shrubbery, and there he in- 
tended to remain. He guessed that Hila.ry would take the 
lead in pursuit, and laughed as he thought of his big lanky 
brother trying to creep through places that he (Lance) 
had had great difficulty in penetrating. It was a pity that 
he laughed. 

“ The beggar’s here. I’m sure ! ” called Harry to Hilary. 
“ Heard him sniggering — didn’t you ? ” 

Hilary’s reply was too muffled to be heard. Ignomini- 
ously, on hands and knees, was the big lad trying to force 
his way to the centre. 

“ We know you’re here ! ” Harry shouted to the unseen 
Lance. “ I heard you laugh. Hillie and I are going to 
play on you with the garden-hose.” 

Do the shrubs good,” chanted Lance in his ringing 


V 


LANCE’S NAUGHTINESS 


123 


treble, and quite unable to resist the joy of answering back. 
The repartee was fatal to Lance’s liberty. The next voice 
that was heard was not a treble one. 

“ Now that I know where you are, Lance,” Hilary was 
saying, ‘‘ I can go back.” (The truth being that the big 
boy could not go forward.) ‘‘ You can stop there as long 
as you please, but, remember, you are under arrest.” 

‘‘ I wanted a rest,' saucily answered Lance. 

But Hilary was in no humour for jokes. He could not 
see his young brother, but they were now well within speak- 
ing distance. Harry was also invisible. 

“Are you there, Harry?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, I’m going in now to see father. I don’t know 
whether he’ll let me deal with this case. It may be too 
serious. We shall see.” 

At the sound of the word father, something seemed to 
grip Lance at the pit of his stomach. 

There was silence now in the shrubbery, save for the 
sound of bodies pushing themselves through stoutly-resist- 
ing growths of laurel and arbutus. Both Hilary and Harry 
were getting out of the thicket as fast as they could. Lance 
was wondering what was best for him to do. Hilary 
meant business ; that was clear enough. If father proceeded 
to extremities — Lance shuddered at the thought of it. A 
birching to-day — this very morning, perhaps — would be 
awful. 

Harry had said of Lance that, except, perhaps, in the 


124 


LANCES NAUGHTINESS 


soles of his feet, you could not have stuck a pin in any 
portion of his body that was not in some way bruised or 
wounded. Just at this time nothing could have been truer. 
Rugger, in its most unmitigated form, had left him with a 
big assortment of hacks; and a series of minor accidents 
in climbing trees to look into nests had painted his body in 
the sombre hues of black and blue. His escapade of this 
morning had reminded him, painfully and sensibly, of the 
existence of these sore places. The crawling in the shrub- 
bery and the battle he had waged in squeezing his lithe body 
through tight places, had indeed added new wounds to the 
freshly-opened old ones. Protesting boughs had dealt him 
blows, and indignant branches had swished him fiercely. 
He knew that there was blood upon his face as well as upon 
his body; but it was only when, with great difficulty, he 
dragged himself into the light of day he found that his 
knickerbockers were in ribbons. There was no need for 
Harry, who was lying in wait, to ask him if he surrendered. 
Lance found that he was so stiff he could scarcely walk 
across the lawn. 

“ For goodness’ sake, don’t let mother spot you ! ” ex- 
claimed Harry. I’ve often seen you in a mess, but never 
in such a state as this. Do you know that your blouse is 
in tatters — literally tatters ? ” 

Is it really? asked Lance, trying to look over his own 
shoulder. 

‘‘ Past all repairs, that’s a fact. You’ll never be able to 
put that blouse on again.” 


LANCES NAUGHTINESS 


125 


“Lucky it is an old one — eh, Harry?” queried Lance. 

“ And as for your face — well, wait till you see it in a 
glass ! ” 

“ My leg’s bleeding,” Lance said, stooping to turn down 
his stocking, the knee of which was soaked with blood. 
“ Thought I was bleeding somewhere.” 

“ Better come in through the kitchen yard,” said Harry, 
sheering Lance off to the left of the terrace. 

“ Then Sarah’ll faint. She did the other day when I 
cut my thumb.” 

“ Can’t be helped. I won’t let mother see you like this. 
You’ll have to change every stitch of clothing. Take your 
clogs off here while I fetch your slippers.” 

Luckily Sarah was sweeping the drawing-room, and Jane 
had gone to the kitchen-garden. 

“ Wonder what’s going to happen ? ” Lance asked him- 
self as he unlaced his clogs — the only part of his dress 
that had not suffered. “ A birching would come jolly hard 
just now. ^ Don’t think I could be strapped down without 
howling. What an ass I’ve been ! Hilary can make it hot 
for me if he likes.” 

As a matter of fact, Hilary could have made things very 
“ hot ” for Lance, but he had not done so. Knowing that 
his father was engaged upon an important and a more than 
usually lucrative piece of literary work, Hilary had hesitated 
about interrupting him, even for a moment. But the Squire 
so frequently repeated his wish that the boys should always 
come to him when they really wanted to see him, on any 


126 


LANCES NAUGHTINESS 


day or at any hour, that Hilary thought it best to put the 
matter before his father in a few words. 

I understand,’' said Mr. Ridingdale with a smile. 

General naughtiness, and so on ? Culminating in a bur- 
lesque attempt to blow up Sniggery ? ” 

“ He only wanted to make us jump, you know, father. 
The thing couldn’t have hurt anybody or anything.” 

“ Except himself,” laughed the Squire. Let that toy 
cannon be confiscated forthwith. I suppose Williams gave 
him the powder ? ” 

‘‘ Yes, father." 

Well, I shall forbid him to give, powder to any of you. 
All right, Hilary. You can deal with Lannie. I can trust 
you not to be too hard upon him.” 

Lance would have been reassured if he could have heard 
this little conversation; but, while it was going on, he was 
bathing his wounds, and getting into another suit of clothes. 
The looking-glass had startled him, for, until a warm sponge 
was applied, a more scratched and blood-bedaubed face 
could hardly have been imagined. 

“ And now that you are looking a little more fit,” said 
Harry, as Lance, having finished lacing his clogs, eyed his 
brother inquiringly, I must remind you that you are a 
prisoner.” 

“ Where is Hilary ? ” Lance inquired anxiously, as Harry 
proceeded to lock the handcuffs on his wrists. 

‘‘ With father, I dare say. Oh, here he is ! Now you’ll 
know your fate.” Hilary’s face looked stern. 


LANCETS NAUGHTINESS 


127 


“ YouVe given us a lot of trouble, young man,” he said to 
Lance; “ what have you got to say for yourself? ” 

“ Lm beastly sorry, Hillie.” Lance spoke rather hoarsely. 
Er — have you seen father ? ” 

“ Yes, I have. And I was very much inclined to press 
for a swishing. But I didn’t. You are handed over to the 



tribunal of Sniggery. Don’t think you’ll get off with a 
light sentence, because you won’t. In fact, I strongly advise 
you to plead guilty.” 

'' Please, Hilary ” Lance was beginning with some 

hesitation. 

''Well?” demanded the eldest brother, making a move 
towards Sniggery. 


128 


LANCES NAUGHTINESS 


“ Won’t you let me plead guilty, and deal with me — I 
forget the right word — it’s what that fellow said to father 
and the other magistrates last week.” 

“ You mean summarily/' Hilary suggested with a smile. 

“ Yes, that’s it. I know you’re all busy this morning, 
a trial lasts such a time.” 

“ But it’s great fun,” put in Harry, who always enjoyed 
himself when on the stump. Indeed he liked public speak- 
ing as much as he loathed writing. 

‘‘ Not quite such fun for the prisoner,” said Hilary 
thoughtfully as he glanced at Lance’s anxious and repent- 
ant face. 

“ Just this once, Hillie,” pleaded the prisoner. “ You can 
be a magistrate this time instead of a judge, you know, and 
Harry can bring me up before you — now. It needn’t 
make any difference to the sentence.” 

“ It won’t do that,” laughed Hilary. “ You’ll get hard 
labour instead of penal servitude, that’s all. And you know 
by experience that they both come to the same thing. But 
you’ve got to be punished, you know. There are twenty 
or thirty distinct charges against you.” 

“Are there really?” asked the astonished prisoner as he 
was led into Sniggery. 

“ Yes,” replied Hilary, taking his seat on the bench, and 
putting on a magisterial look. “ Do you plead guilty to 
the whole lot ? ” 

“ I’d like to know some of them ; I didn’t think there 
were so many.” 


LANCES NAUGHTINESS 


129 


“ But the gunpowder plot’s enough,” Harry suggested. 

“ More than enough,” assented Hilary. An attempt to 
blow up ” 

“ Oh, but I didn’t want to blow up anything,” Lance 
interrupted. 

“ Ah, well,” began the magistrate,, “ I suppose we must 
have a trial by jury after all. I thought officer,” address- 
ing Harry, “ the prisoner was going to plead guilty ? ” 
Better say ' yes ’ to the whole shoot,” Harry admonished 
the culprit. 

“ Do you plead guilty to letting off a cannon within the 
precincts of the court ? ” sternly demanded Hilary. 

Oh, well, if you call the back of Sniggery the precincts 
of a court — yes, I do plead guilty.” 

“ Do you plead guilty to taking a large piece of candied 
peel from the kitchen dresser while Jane had her hands in 
the dough and couldn’t prevent you ? ” 

Guilty,” faltered Lance. This time he certainly looked 
it. 

‘‘ Do you plead guilty to ripping a suit of clothes to 
tatters in an attempt to evade the justice of the law ? ” 

'' It was only a blouse and a pair of old ” 

Guilty or not guilty ? ” the magisterial Hilary insisted. 
Oh, well — guilty.” 

Do you plead guilty to playing the garden-ox all over 
the place for the last week or so ? ” Hilary asked with less 
than his usual lucidity, “ and to endangering your own life 
and limb, and the lives and limbs of your brothers and sis^ 


130 


LANCE’S NAUGHTINESS 


ters, in a futile attempt to double the parts of harlequin and 
clown? ” 

Harry felt inclined to applaud. Lance felt inclined to 
laugh* — and did so. 

“ This is no laughing matter, sir,” admonished Hilary. 

I await your plea.” 

Guilty, m’lord,” spluttered Lance after a little struggle 
with himself. 

“ Shouldn’t say m’lord to a magistrate,” Harry whispered. 
‘‘ Call him ' your honour,’ or — or something.” 

“ Guilty, your honour.” 

“ Very well,” said the amateur J. P. The other six- 
and-twenty charges need not be gone into. They are all 
sufficiently grave. I need not remind you that to go to 
Mass in unpolished clogs is an indictable offense; nor need 
I insist upon the fact that Dr. Byrse’s desk is not the fitting 
place for a hedghog — dead or alive. To try and persuade 
Gas that Connie’s doll was the bone of a mutton-chop, and 
to be worried accordingly ” 

“ ’Twas an awfully old doll,” Lance struck in, and I 
thought ” 

“ Mustn’t interrupt a' magistrate,” Harry reminded him. 
“ Get it all the hotter if you do.” 

“ As I was saying,” Hilary resumed with a frown, or 
was about to say — the introduction of a pet jackdaw into 
the sacred arena of classical studies may be funny, but that 
it is a source of distraction to the average student cannot 
truthfully be denied. But enough! I do not sit here to 


LANCE’S NAUGHTINESS 


harrow a prisoner’s feelings. My duty is to pass sentence. 
I need not say that under the circumstances that sentence 
must be a severe one. I therefore order you into solitary 
confinement until dinner-time. Within a reasonable time 
after dinner you will be put in irons and conveyed to Si- 
beria, where you will be kept to the hardest of hard labour 
for three hours. Remove the prisoner ! — and, officer ! ” 
added Hilary, addressing Harry, “ I hold you responsible 
for his safe custody, and for the proper carrying out of the 
sentence. I’m going out with mother and father this after- 
noon.” 

Hilary left the magisterial bench with alacrity. The first 
bell for dinner had sounded. 









\ 


LANCE’S NAUGHTINESS 


133 


n. 

Conversation at the 
dinner-table hovered 
about Mrs. Praggit 
and the Krumptons. 

Harry had been 
heard to say that al- 
though in herself 
Mrs. Praggit was no 
joke, she was cer- 
tainly a fruit- 
ful cause of mirth in 
others. Lance did 
not at all object to 
Harry’s recalling the 
church door episode, 
when, not knowing who he was, the lady had hectored him 
from her carriage and offered him sixpence. It was noth- 
ing to Lance that §he mistook him for a boy of the village, 
and regarded his wearing of doubly-ironed clogs on a Sun- 
day as the penalty of some inherent naughtiness. He had 
rather enjoyed the bullying, and was not at all displeased 



134 


LANCE’S NAUGHTINESS 


with the recollection of his own presence of mind in refus- 
ing the sixpence. But he found it impossible to forget, and 
difficult to forgive, the scene at the Colonel’s garden-party. 
To force a gold bracelet upon a boy was, he thought, one of 
those peculiarly asinine things that only a woman like 
Mrs. Praggit could be guilty of. But he had comforted 
himself with the thought that some day the bracelet and 

the other rotten things ” that other silly ladies had loaded 
him with after his singing would be very acceptable to 
Maggie and Connie. Moreover, mother had said that they 
should be regarded as his gifts to his sisters. 

Mrs. Praggit was again staying with the Krumptons, 
and had called no less than four times at Ridingdale Hall 
without once having the good fortune to see Lance. How 
he managed to escape her was a mystery that neither 
mother nor father cared to probe. . On each occasion Lance 
was out. Messages had been left for him, and he had 
replied to them with notes so polite that if Father Horbury 
had permitted it Lance would have anticipated his fort- 
nightly confession. 

“I wonder if we could make room for Lannie?” Mrs. 
Ridingdale asked her husband. '' Among other places, we 
are going to call at the Krumptons’,” she remarked to 
Lance, and perhaps you ought to say ‘Good-bye’ to 
Mrs. Praggit.” 

Lance had been rather silent during the meal. As his 
mother spoke to him he flushed hotly, and then glanced 
quickly at Hilary and his father. 


LANCES NAUGHTINESS 


135 


“ I fancy, my dear, Lannie is Very much engaged this 
afternoon,” said Mr. Ridingdale, trying to look grave but 
not quite succeeding. Isn’t that so, Hilary ? ” 

Yes, father. From two till five Lance will be — well, 
occupied.” 

Mrs. Ridingdale smiled. She was too wise a mother to 
ask leading questions in public. Moreover, she half sus- 
pected that Lance was in trouble. 

There are some agricultural improvements going on at 
the north side of the kitchen-garden,” Mr. Ridingdale ex- 
plained to his wife. “ Lannie’s presence there is, I fear, 
indispensable.” 

“ Well, we are not quite sure that your friend is still 
here, Lannie,” Mrs. Ridingdale said as she gave him a 
second helping of pudding. '' If she is, can we give her 
any message from you ? ” 

Don’t know what message to send, mother. Can’t send 
her my love, you know, ’cause ” Lance hesitated. 

‘‘ Well, dear, suppose I say that you are sorry not to have 
the opportunity of ” 

'' Saying good-bye to her ? O yes, mother, that would 
be first-rate. Wouldn’t be any humbug about that, would 
there?” 

“ I wasn’t going to say quite that, Lannie,” she rejoined 
laughingly. 

Put in that way it might be misunderstood,” remarked 
the Squire. '' However, Lannie, you will be safe in leaving 
the message to your mother.” 


136 


LANCE’S NAUGHTINESS 


Yes, mother, you’ll know what to say,” assented Lance, 
wondering a little what Hilary, Harry, and' George were 
sniggering at. Wondering also if the three hours hard 
labour he was going to do would justify three helpings of 
pudding. A moment’s hesitation satisfied him that a third 
helping would be sheer greediness. Mother seemed to take 
it as a matter of course, but a‘ second plateful sometimes 
gave him a twinge of conscience. 

“ I’d like to see mother just for a minute,” Lance whis- 
pered to Harry at the end of dinner ; for that vigilant 
‘‘ officer ” had thought it necessary to remind the culprit 
that he was in custody. 

“ All right. But you’ll turn up again — honour bright? ” 
Honour bright! ” ejaculated Lance as he ran after his 
mother. “ And I shan’t be long.” 

He was longer than he intended to be. His multiplied 
faults were beginning to weigh upon him a good deal; but 
he was particularly sorry for the ripped clothing. Mother 
herself had made that blouse — the material of which was 
anything but flimsy. He wanted to tell her how very sorry 
he was. It hurt him to think that he had added materially 
to that never-diminishing heap of sewing to which she sat 
down every day of her life. He wished he could say truth- 
fully that he was glad of his punishment; but then he was 
not. Digging, all alone, for three hours was hateful. 

Then, too, although he did not want to see Mrs. Praggit, 
he was sorry to miss going to the Krumptons’. He and 
Mrs. Krumpton were very old friends. He was always glad 


LANCETS NAUGHTINESS 


137 


to sing for her, and did not even begrudge the changing into 
Etons and shoes in prospect of a drive to her house. So, on 
the whole, he reflected, he was being pretty well punished 
for his naughtiness, and felt the need of comfort in the 
unfailing word with mother. But it meant more than a 
word. It meant the mother’s kiss that makes for strength 
— as well as for consolation. 

So, while Lance was having his irons put on, though 
Harry saw that there were unshed tears in the prisoner’s 
eyes, he noticed also a budding smile, and guessed by what 
special mother-method the smile had been won. 


138 


LANCES NAUGHTINESS 


III. 

Siberia had never seemed so 
lonely. The brilliant sunshine 
and the absence of every human 
sound served to emphasize 
Lance’s sense of solitariness. 
Moreover, there had been very 
little rain lately, and the soil 
was dry and hard. Lance felt 
grateful to Harry for giving 
him a fork instead of a spade. 
During the first hour he had 
not felt the loneliness; perhaps 
at that time his back had not 
ached so much as it did now. 

By this time father and mother and Hilary would be well 
on their way to the Krumptons’ — who lived quite a mile 
beyond Hardlow. The Snags were all in the woods; the 
Snigs had, of course, gone down to the river. It was just 
the afternoon for boating and bathing, Lance reflected. If 
only he hadn’t been such an ass! How hot he was, and 
how thirsty ! And the garden pump was dry I He ‘won- 
dered if he might venture to go to the scullery for a drink 
of water. He could tell Hilary afterwards, and he did not 
think his big brother would mind. 

But he tried to persuade himself that he was not very 
thirsty; and for half an hour or so he worked on doggedly 



LANCE’S NAUGHTINESS 


139 


— hoping that it was nearer five o’clock than four, but 
greatly fearing that it was not. 

What a fearfully long afternoon it was ! The old stable- 
clock must have struck four long ago, though he had not 
heard it. And all this time, if only he hadn’t played the fool, 
he might have been sitting in Mrs. Krumpton’s big, cool 
drawing-room, drinking tea and eating strawberries and 
cream, and singing some of his prettiest, if not his most 
difficult songs. 

“ Oh, but it must be five ! ” he ejaculated when, after what 
seemed quite a long interval, the stable-clock struck four. 
“ It’s no good,” he said to himself, driving the fork into the 
soil, ‘‘ I must have some water. And I’ll take a squint at 
that clock.” 

Now if you knew the intricacies of the big kitchen-garden 
at Ridingdale Hall, you would understand why that squint 
at the clock led to Lance’s exceeding confusion. If he had 
kept on the main pathway which, after one or two turnings 
to the right, leads straight to the scullery-yard, all would 
have been well. But, in order to get a sight of the clock, he 
had to turn to the left and pass through the orchard. Per- 
haps, too, if he had not been running, and if his clogs and 
shackles had not made so much noise, the sound of female 
voices in the orchard would have reached his ears in time. 
As it was, he burst through the orchard gate and found him- 
self facing, not only Maggie and Connie, but — of all people 
in the world ! — Mrs. Praggit and her companion ! 

In every sense of the word, poor Lance was in a tight 


140 


LANCE’S NAUGHTINESS 


place. No sooner did his sisters catch sight of him than each 
ran and seized one of his hands. 

“ So glad you’ve come, Lannie ! ” exclaimed Maggie. 
“ You see, there’s just nobody at home but us. Of course 
I’ve told Sarah to make the tea. We were looking for you 
everywhere — weren’t we, Connie ? ” 

The two girls clung to him as though a grubby-looking, 
shirt-sleeved, bare-armed brother in irons were the most 
natural and the most delightful thing in the world. Cer- 
tainly, Lance was glad that they were present. 

Both Mrs. Praggit and her companion had given little 
screams at his sudden appearance; but they very soon re- 
covered themselves. 

“ My dear boy ! ” the elder lady began, “ what a terrible 
state of perspiration you are in ! I suppose you are playing 
a game of some kind ? ” 

“ Not exactly,” was the only reply that Lance could make. 
But he made a brave attempt to smile as he expressed 
his deep concern at his mother’s absence, and explained that 
she had gone to call at the Krumptons’ that very afternoon. 

“ She will be sorry to have missed you,” he added — 
cheeks and ears tingling as the hot blood mounted to them, 
but intensely thankful that by clinging to his arms Maggie 
and Connie relieved him of the necessity of displaying his 
dirty hands. 

My brothers will be home at five; and you will take 
some tea — won’t you ? ” 

But you will join us directly, my dear — will you not? ” 


LANCE’S NAUGHTINESS 


141 

said Mrs. Praggit — “ when you have — I mean, when you 
have finished your game ?” 

Lance did not know what to say — except '' Thank you 
very much ; ” but it was a relief to find that the ladies were 
moving towards the house. “ I shall be — at liberty at five 
o’clock,’' he said shamefacedly. “ I hope you are not pressed 
for time ? ” 

“ Not at all,” said the lady. “ Besides I want to see you 
and your parents very particularly. You will sing for us 
before we go — will you not? ” 

I shall be very pleased,” Lance said rather feebly, 
« if 

Gareth is with us,” whispered Maggie, “ shall I send 
him down to the river for Harry ? ” 

Oh, do, Maggie ! ” exclaimed the boy eagerly. Send 
him at once ! Tell him to run all the way ! ” 

Lance had often said that “ William of Deloraine, good 
at need,” was '' not in it ” with his sister Maggie; that night 
he praised her until she blushed with delight. 

He was longing to be off. The ladies were still eyeing 
him — curiously and wonderingly. He was fearing every 
moment that some awkward question would be asked. If 
only they would get outside the orchard — he at any rate 
would not linger. 

Sarah’s laying tea in Snuggery,” Connie said as Mag- 
gie ran off to find Gareth. 

“ In that case,” said Lance, darting forward to open the 
orchard gate, your nearest way is through the shrubbery.” 


142 


LANCE’S NAUGHTINESS 


He waited to shut the gate; then, with a flourish of his 
cap, he clanked off. 

An angry exclamation broke from him when he found 
himself alone. He had received a big humiliation, and he 
did not like it. And the thought that, if only he had gone 
on digging he would not have been seen, did not make the 
thing easier to bear. What would those ladies think of him ? 
Of course they would pump Connie, who, being younger 
than Maggie, would immediately let it all out. 

“ That old woman’s a regular Nemesis! ” he growled to 
himself. '' Fancy her, of all people, seeing me in this state! 
Glad I didn’t take my collar off — though I guess it’s not 
over-clean. Oh, and hang it! I didn’t get any water after 
all ! ” 

He laughed a little grimly as he took up the fork and 
began to dig. His faults were finding him out with a ven- 
geance. And he had wasted quite twenty minutes of his 
three hours. Would Hilary expect him to make it up ? He 
would tell Harry, of course and, as Harry had him in cus- 
tody, he could decide. 

But the meeting again with Mrs. Praggit ! Luckily, even 
if Harry turned up before five the Snuggery tea would be 
over. He would get his meal in the dining-room with his 
brothers. Singing was about the last thing in the world he 
felt inclined for just now; yet he supposed he would have to 
make the attempt. He began to wonder vaguely how such a 
nice lady as Mrs. Krumpton could possibly have a person 


LANCES NAUGHTINESS 


143 


like Mrs. Praggit staying with her. Thank goodness, the 
creature had come to the end of her visit ! 

'' Hello, No. 5 ! ” — it was Harry — you haven’t done 
so much amiss. But what’s all this about visitors ? Thought 
mother had gone to call on the Praggit? ” 

So she has,” said Lance dejectedly. “ They’ve just 
missed one another. You see, mother wasn’t going straight 
to the Krumptons’.” 

“ Well, I suppose she wants to see you! ” 

“ She’s seen me.” 

“ What! ” 

Fact.” And Lance told the whole story. 

“ Oh, I say, you know,” laughed Harry, “ this is more 
than a joke! You are an unlucky beggar at times, Lannie! 
Well, look here — it’s going hard for five, and I really 
think you’ve done enough. I’ll make it all right with Hillie. 
You cut indoors and have a bath.” 

To have his fetters unlocked — to run to the house — to 
bathe — to put on a fresh blouse and collar — to have a tea 
which was not of the drawing-room order — with Lance, at 
any rate, these matters were anything but the work of a 
moment; though some heroes of fiction have a knack of 
doing quite as many things in a wonderfully short space of 
time. Three-quarters of an hour elapsed from the time of 
Lance’s leaving the garden to his appearance at the door 
of Snuggery. He did not hurry because, first of all, he knew 
that Harry and George were quite capable ot entertaining 


144 


LANCES NAUGHTINESS 


the visitors; secondly, if the truth must out, he was not at 
all anxious to interview Mrs. Praggit. 

But the bath or the tea, or both combined, made him 
brave; and he hoped that song and music might be per- 
mitted to take the place of talk — at any rate, of cross- 
examination. 


LANCE’S NAUGHTINESS 


145 


IV. 

Lance not only took 
pleasure in his singing, 
but liked those people 
to whom it gave pleas- 
ure. And now he came 
to think of it, he con- 
sidered it very good of 
the visitors to prolong 
their afternoon call 
merely for the sake of 
hearing him warble. 

However, he thought 
some apology due from 
himself — though 
Harry had promised to 
excuse him — and he made it handsomely. 

‘‘ Oh, my dear, we are not at all in a hurry, I assure 
you,” said the lady. I cannot leave you until your mother 
and father return. I want to see them — particularly/^ 

Standing at the door of Snuggery, Lance marvelled. The 
visitor was talking as though she were an old friend of the 
family. What could it mean? And she was nodding and 
smiling at him as though he understood. One glance at 
Harry and George assured him that they were ‘‘ extensively 
and articulately bored.” Fortunately for the credit of the 
house, Maggie was doing the honours as though she gave 



146 


LANCES NAUGHTINESS 


an ‘‘ At Home ” every afternoon of her life. Even while he 
strung his lute, Lance was considering in what way he 
could reward his sister for her distinguished services. 

Without book or music-sheet he sang two or three pretty 
ballads, one after another — scarcely waiting for the inevi- 
table applause and the rapturous “ Oh-how-sweet ! ” of the 
visitors. He was glad to find himself in fairly good voice; 
the hard labour of the afternoon had not over-fatigued him. 
All the same, he was longing for the return of father and 
mother. 

He did not hear their tootsteps on the grass; but, just as 
he had finished his fourth song, an arm stole round his neck, 
and, in another instant, he was lifting rosy lips for his 
mother’s kiss. 

We may go now — mayn’t we mammy? ” he whispered 
anxiously. She wants to see you particularly. And 
father. She said so.” 

“Very well, dear,” whispered Mrs. Ridingdale; “but 
I don’t think she can have anything very important to say 
to us.” 

Followed by her husband, she hurried towards Snuggery 
to greet her visitors, and Lance ran into the house to get rid 
of his instrument. 

But for Maggie, wide-eyed and important and bursting 
with news, I doubt if Lance would immediately have fieard 
of the “particular ” matter on which Mrs. Praggit wished 
to see his parents. 


LANCE’S NAUGHTINESS 


147 


Lance was sitting with Maggie and Connie in serious 
consultation. The party in Snuggery were just moving 
into the house. 

“ I’d run away if I thought mother and father ” 

“ Oh, but of course they won’t,” Maggie interrupted. 
“ Don’t look like that, Lannie ! ” 

‘‘ Like what ? ” 

‘‘ Like you are looking; it’s dreadful! ” 

It really was. He was so bronzed and ruddy that nothing 
could have made him turn pale ; but his face had taken on a 
look of despair and disgust that half frightened his sisters. 

“The very idea of her wanting to adopt me!” he ex- 
claimed bitterly. 

“ I’m sure and certain,” said Maggie, with immense con- 
viction, “ that mother won’t kt her.” 

“ It’s father I’m thinking of. You see he talked the other 
day about sending me off somewhere.” 

“ O Lannie, he didn’t I He really didn’t. He only said 
— ‘ How would you like to be sent to some school a long 
way off — all by yourself? ’ And he didn’t mean it. You 
can always tell when father means things.” 

“ He might mean it to-day, though. You see, I’ve been 
worse since he said that. If he had not been so busy this 
morning, I fancy he’d have birched me. Hilary had me up 
for such a lot of things, you see.” 

“ Mrs. Praggit’s awfully rich ” Connie was begin- 


ning. 


148 


LANCE’S NAUGHTINESS 


‘‘Rich!” ejaculated Lance savagely, “just as if that 
made any difference ! ” 

“ She said she would make you her heir,” Maggie ven- 
tured. 

“ Oh, do shut up! ” Lance almost shouted, knocking his 
feet together with a vehemence that made his clog-irons 
ring. 

It was just the reflection that Mrs. Praggit was very rich 
that made Lance uneasy. No one understood better than 
he the poverty of his father, and the material advantage it 
would be to the whole family if one of its boys were pro- 
vided for — not merely for a time, but for life. Manfully 
he struggled against the sickening feeling that his fate was 
at that very moment being decided. Yet the thought of his 
mother remained uppermost, do what he could to suppress 
it. And for many reasons he was trying to suppress it. In 
the presence of his sisters there must not be the smallest 
hint of tears. 

He jumped up suddenly, saying, “ It is no use, Maggie! 

I can’t stay here. I — I don’t feel very well. At least. I’m 
awfully tired. I shall go to — I shall go upstairs.” 

With his back turned to his sisters, he had spoken; he 
now ran at full speed towards the house. As he passed 
the drawing-room door, he could hear the raised voice of 
Mrs. Praggit. Mounting the broad staircase, he crept to 
his sleeping-room; but he did not go to bed. He threw 
himself on his knees by the little altar that stood between 
his bed and George’s, and — the flood came. 


LANCETS NAUGHTINESS 


149 


“ O dear Lord ! ” he cried, don’t let it happen ! It’ll 
break my heart! I know I’ve been bad, but I’m ever so 
sorry. And I really will be better. I have tried, and I’ll try 
harder ! ” 

His whole body shook with sobbing. In his unreasonable 
grief, it seemed to him as if all the faults of his life — 
faults long ago forgiven and forgotten both by God and 
man — were now finding him out. Greatly as he had al- 
ways loved his home-life, it had never until this moment 
seemed to be so desirably lovely, so utterly impossible to 
give up. 

He did not hear a carriage drive away from the door. 
He did not hear suppressed laughter in the hall below. He 
did not hear Maggie calling to her mother. He did not 
hear a light footstep tripping up the stairs. 

But he did hear that footstep on the threshold of his bed- 
room. He heard also a loving voice, charged with some 
surprise, say softly — My darling! '' 

Springing from his knees, he flew to his mother’s arms, 
and, though he knew by her look that the questions were 
futile, he could not check them : — 

‘‘ Mammy darling 1 she isn’t — you haven’t — I mean you 
wouldn’t — would you, mammy ? ” 

Not for all the wealth of all the Praggits who ever 
lived, my precious ! How could my Lannie think of it — 
even for a moment ? ” 

And then who did the most crying and laughing and 
scolding and comforting — may be guessed. I only know 



LANCE’S NAUGHTINESS 


151 

that a boy ever so much ashamed of himself clung to his 
mother as though he despaired of ever telling her how much 
he loved her ; that the mother clasped her boy as though he 
had escaped some threatened peril, and as if she dared not 
let him leave her arms. 

‘‘ Mrs. Praggit went away in an awful wax,” Harry said 
to Lance, later in the evening. “ She as good as told father 
and mother that they were lunatics. If father hadn’t been 
very cool, there would have been a regular row. You see, 
she had made up her mind that she was going to adopt you, 
and she thought mother would jump at it. She was fright- 
fully sold when they both told her straight that they couldn’t 
and wouldn’t hear of it.” 

‘‘ What a cheek the creature has ! ” ejaculated Lance. 

‘‘Yes, hasn’t she? I s’pose it’s a regular eye-opener to 
rich people when they find that they jolly well can’t buy 
what they happen to want most.” 

“ I wonder Mrs. Krumpton invited her.” 

“ She didn’t. Mrs. Praggit just telegraphed to say she 
was coming, and she came. Thank goodness she goes to- 
morrow. She had the impudence to remind father that 
he'd adopted a boy; just as if that had anything to do with 
her!” 








LANCE’S CIRCLE 




















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LANCE’S CIRCLE. 

Very shyly one June day, and with the blush that so easily 
overspread his sunny face, Lance asked me if I would not 
join his Apostleship circle. 

“ It’s like this,” he began to explain eagerly, “ I’ve only 
just got my diploma, and though both George and Willie 
are Promoters, I’d like to have a circle of my own. Father 
Horbury says there’s no reason why people shouldn’t belong 
to more than one circle; but — perhaps you’d rather not,” 
he added hesitatingly, and with the tone of one who thought 
he might be asking too much. 


155 


LANCE’S CIRCLE 


IS6 

Though at that time I scarcely knew what the Apostle- 
ship meant, I soon made him understand how very glad I 
should be to join what I called his spiritual team of fifteen 
pray-ers, just as I had joined his football fifteen. 

Funny I never thought of that,” he said laughing 
merrily. “ A praying-team is rather a good idea. Did you 
hear that, Willie? ” 

I had found the two of them sitting at one of the several 
little tables which, together with all sorts of upturned boxes 
and extemporized seats, were dotted about Arts and Crafts. 
They were both absorbed in writing, and, though George 
was absent, I felt sure that I was breaking in upon the 
labours of the Bow-Wow staff. However, Lance had 
quickly explained that he and Willie were just taking ad- 
vantage of a passing shower to go over the lists of members 
of the various circles of the Apostleship. 

‘‘ My brothers have had the start of me,” he said, sitting 
down again at the little table and looking over the various 
papers, “ and of course they’ve collared all the best people. 
I shall just have to go to work and — what do you call it? 
— canvass, isn’t it ? ” 

'' I see Dominic’s name on every list,” Willie Murring- 
ton said with a smile. I should like to know how many 
rosaries Dominic says every day.” 

“ Don’t believe the old saint keeps any count,” said 
Lance. “ In a quiet sort of way I once tried to find out, 
but he hedged so well I couldn’t get him to answer my 
questions. Then I asked Father Horbury, and he said the 


LANCE’S CIRCLE 


157 


only possible way of getting to know was to make friends 
with Dominic’s angel guardian.” 

“ Well,” I remarked, knowing how devoted Dominic was 
to Lance, “ if the old man won’t tell you he’ll tell nobody. 
You’ll get him on your list of course? ” 

“ Rather! You see, when a chap uses a fifteen-mystery 
rosary, an odd decade more or less is nothing to him.” 

'' He prays so well,” said Willie, with that seriousness 
which was as much a part of his character as a sunny 
volatility was of Lance’s. “ We can tell that he’s really 
meditating on the mystery. Farther Horbury told us one 
day that after a talk with Dominic he sometimes gets quite 
new and useful thoughts.” 

“ Dominic’s a jolly holy old man, I tell you,” Lance 
declared with enthusiasm. “ I’ve put his name at the top 
of my list, and he’s got to join my circle — though he runs 
two or three of his own. I wonder who else there is ? ” 

“ What about the Lethers ? ” I asked. 

“ O Mrs. Lethers is a Promoter, of course, and her 
husband and Tommie are in her circle. Mother says I 
oughtn’t to bother people to say extra decades if they don’t 
want to.” 

“ Do any of the guild lads belong to the Apostleship ? ” 
I inquired. 

“ Ripping! ” exclaimed Lance; “ never thought of them. 
Just the very chaps. Let’s look through these papers 
again, Willie, and see how many guild lads are in the 
Second Degree.” 


158 


LANCETS CIRCLE 


The June shOwer that had promised to be a passing one 
now threatened to develop into a steady downpour. 
Through the open window one could tell that the bowling 
at the nets had suddenly ceased. Very soon there was a 
scurry of clogged feet on the terrace outside. The at- 
mosphere of Arts and Crafts became charged with the per- 
fume of countless roses. 

''Not a blessed one!” ejaculated Lance after he had 
compared notes with Willie. " Not one of those guild chaps 
are in any of our circles, yet I know they all belong to the 
Apostleship. Look here, I’ll try and get my team of fifteen 
from them.” 

"And you’ll kick out Dominic and me?” I asked mis- 
chievously. 

" Oh, no : course not.” 

" Better try for a cricket-team of guild-boys,” I sugges- 
ted. 

" Yes,” smiled Willie, " you’ll find it easier to get an 
eleven, Lannie.” 

" I’ll get more than eleven — you see,” said Lance with a 
look of determination. " You wait till after next Thurs- 
day.” 

Now next Thursday was the great day of St. Aloysius, 
kept at Ridingdale with much festivity. It was the big 
fete-day of the guild. And on the following Sunday all 
the boys would go to Holy Communion. 

It was clear that Lance had some plan in his mind: 
equally clear it soon became that he was not going to talk 


LANCE’S CIRCLE 


159 


about it. In fact he put up his papers and laid down his 
pen with a gesture of finality, leading the conversation to 
the subject of cricket with vivacity and directness. The 
shower ceased, and we went out to look at the newly rain- 
washed roses. 

After Holy Communion, on the Sunday following the 
feast of St. Aloysius, Lance and George and Willie and I 
remained to breakfast with the guild-boys. After break- 
fast, Father Horbury gave us one of his three minutes’ 
talks. One could always remember what he said. 

“ I need not remind you, boys, that daily prayer is as 
necessary as daily bread. We can’t do without it. Now, if 
I went round this room and asked each of you fifty or sixty 
lads, ‘What prayers do you say every day?’ — I’m not 
going to do it, of course — I don’t think there is one of you 
who would have to answer ‘ None.’ But if I asked each of 
you, ‘ Do you say the Rosary every day ? ’ I feel sure that 
some of you would reply, ‘ Haven’t time. Father.’ Very 
well. Perhaps you haven’t time. All of you work hard, 
and therefore you have a right to play. But you have also 
the right and the privilege to pray. Now, to some of you, 
perhaps, a whole Rosary seems a great deal; but what 
about one decade, lads? Just one mystery of the Rosary 
every day? Just one Our Father and ten Hail Marys? 
Not so very much, is it, after what the good God has 
given you? It is only a suggestion, boys. Not one of you 
need feel uneasy if he thinks he can’t manage it. I’m not 


i6o 


LANCES CIRCLE 


going to make it a rule of the Guild, or anything of that 
sort. I simply recommend it to you. You all belong to 
the First Degree of the Apostleship of Prayer, and you all 
make the Morning Offering. I am glad of that, and for 
many reasons. It brings you into contact with a big army 
of praying people. It helps you to think of the needs of 
others, as well as of your own. It is a very unselfish 
organization; if it were not it wouldn’t be an Apostleship. 
It saves us from being too local and selfish. It reminds us 
that we belong, not to a sect, but to a Church that is spread 
all over the world. The daily decade of the Rosary, 
offered for the intention which changes every month, and 
for all our Lord’s intentions — one of these being, as you 
know, your own salvation — is a great means of grace, 
and I heartily recommend it to you.” 

Father Horbury just added that their prefect (Lance 
himself) would form one or more circles of fifteen, if any 
of them cared to put down their names ; then, giving them 
his blessing, he left them. 

If you had been in the neighbourhood of the guild-room 
when the lads dispersed, this is what you would have seen : 
Five-and-forty lads come out, each with a ticket in his hand 
and a rose in his button-hole. And if you had compared 
the printed slip with the flower, you would have seen that 
every holder of a Joyful Mystery wore a white rose ; every 
Sorrowful Mystery bearer a red rose; every recipient of a 
Glorious Mystery a yellow-golden rose. 

‘‘ O it wasn’t exactly my idea,” Lance protested when I 


LANCE'S CIRCLE 


i6i 


expressed my pleasure. We always decorate the shrine 
with those three colours. Mother suggested it first. We 
call them the Mystery roses. And this year there’s such a 
lovely crop, mother said I might put a lot on the breakfast- 
table this morning. And of course I knew some of the lads 

would make up a circle and so By-the-way, I mustn’t 

forget to give you your ticket.” 




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LANCE’S ROSE OF JOY 


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LANCE’S ROSE OF JOY. 


Ye thrilled me once, ye mournful strains, 

Ye anthems of plaintive woe, 

Vly spirit was sad when I was young; 

Ah sorrowful long-ago! 

There was no accompaniment, 
and the words floated out on to 
the lawn with a clearness that, 
even when the voice was recog- 
nized as that of Lance Riding- 
dale, was notable. But when 
after a short pause the lines were 
repeated Father Horbury laughed 
aloud. The bare idea of Lance 
in connection with a “ sorrow- 
ful long-ago,” — of Lance de- 
claring to the world that when 
he was young his spirit was sad, 
seemed to the listener to contain 
just that element of incongruity 
that makes for the laughable. 

It became evident that the boy was rehearsing a new 

song, and that at this particular moment he was far more 

165 



LANCE’S ROSE OF JOY 


i66 

concerned with the mastering of a rather difficult interval in 
the melody than with the words of Mr. Robert Bridges. 

Knowing that between tea-time and night studies it was 
Lance’s habit to rehearse both singing and speaking pieces 
on the little stage which was a permanent feature of Arts 
and Crafts, Father Horbury climbed to the terrace and 
looked through the open window into what was at once a 
play-room and a workshop. 

My spirit was sad when I was young; 

Ah sorrowful long-ago ! 

Quite alone, and with eyes fixed on the ceiling, Lance 
was evidently going over a recent singing-lesson ; and from 
memory, for he had no copy in his hands, the fingers of 
which were clutching the leathern strap that belted his 
blouse. 

'‘How many long years ago is it, Lance?” inquired 
Father Horbury; “and was your spirit so very sad at that 
sorrowful time? ” 

Lance started and swung round on the heels of his clogs. 
The priest was at a window a little in the rear of the stage, 
and the boy had not seen him approaching. Arts and 
Crafts now echoed with a peal of treble laughter. 

“ Isn’t it nonsense, Father? ” Lance asked, as he jumped 
down and ran to the open window. “ And the tune is 
awfully difficult. I’m not at all sure of that drop: it’s a 
seventh, you see. Father, and I’m always stupid at a 
seventh.” 


LANCETS ROSE OF JOY 


167 


‘‘ So am I,” smiled Father Horbury. 

'' But it gets better as it goes on — both words and music. 
In fact I really think you’d like the lines that come just 
after the ‘ sorrowful long-ago.’ ” 

“ Well, suppose you give them to me, Lannie.” 

Shyly, but without hesitation, Lance remounted his ros- 
trum, and sang : 


But since I have found the beauty of joy 
I have done with proud dismay: 

For howsoe’er man hug his care 
The best of his art is gay. 

Bravo!” called out Father Horbury: “ever so much 
better. You’re quite right, Lannie, I like that. There are 
so many people going about the world trying to dodge the 
Beauty of Joy — you’re not one of them, my child — it is 
quite delightful to meet with a poet who says that he has 
found it. Are you coming outside? That’s right. Can 
you manage to get through the window ? ” 

Lance’s reply was a laugh and a flying leap, and the im- 
mediate displacement by his clogs of much terrace-gravel. 

“ I had come over to have a talk with you, Lannie,’' said 
the priest, as they wandered on to the lawn, “ and curiously 
enough what you have just sung leads up to what I wanted 
to say.” 

Lance looked up quickly and inquiringly. 

“ About those Apostleship circles,” began Father Hor- 
bury, famous for plunging into the middle of things: 


i68 


LANCETS ROSE OF JOY 


you were rather astonished to find so many ready to join, 
weren’t you? ” 

Awfully, Father: it was just splendid.” 

Quite so : I can understand your being very pleased. 
But tell me now, Lance, were you conscious of passing 
anybody over, I mean on purpose? Somebody who was 
showing a certain anxiety to get a ticket ? ” 

Lance began to study the metal toe-caps of his clogs as 
though he had never seen them until that moment. After 
a short but uncomfortable interval, he answered, Yes, 
Father.” 

‘‘ Well, now, Fm not going to scold you,” the priest went 
on, “ but I know you don’t like missing a chance of doing 
good. I quite understand your feelings in regard to Jack 
Barson. I myself find him a bit of a trial. Nearly every- 
thing is against him, poor chap — particularly his manner 
and his personal appearance. I dare say you think him 
a lout, and that is certainly the impression he gives one. 
But you see, Lannie, we must look below the surface of 
things — and people — mustn’t we ? ” 

“Lie’s such a coward. Father!” exclaimed Lance, as 
though he were mentioning the unpardonable sin. 

“ Perhaps he is,” mused the priest. “ At any rate, I 
remember his bullying Tommie Lethers: I also remember 
your fighting him for it, and, as I told you at the time, if 
anything can justify a fight between two boys, a clear case 
of bullying will do so.” 

“ He kicked Tommie! ” 


LANCETS ROSE OF JOY 


169 


Lance s words, and the tone in which they were said, 
seemed to imply that by that act Jack Barson had touched 
depravity at its lowest depths. 

Quite true. And I fully share your view as to the 
iniquity of kicking. In Ridingdale, happily, a case of 
kicking is rarer than a white ousel. But do you really mean 
to say, Lance, that you haven’t yet forgiven Jack, in spite 
of the tremendous thrashing you gave him ? ” 

'' Oh, of course. Father, I’ve forgiven him,” Lance said, 
hastily. “ But it’s awfully hard to forget a thing of that 
sort.” 

“ It’s impossible to forget it, Lance ; but don’t you see 
that if you allow the memory of it to make you unfair to 
Jack, there is at least a danger of something being wanting 
in the perfection of your forgiveness? Don’t misunder- 
stand me. I feel sure your forgiveness satisfies the ordi- 
nary conditions : you would not do him any harm, and you 
do not wilfully exclude him from your prayers: I am 
right in supposing these things, Lance, am I not? ” 

“ Of course. Father. And I wouldn’t be unfair to him 
— at least not on purpose. I mean, not if 1 thought 
about it.” 

Well, then, let me tell you something. Last Sunday 
when you and all the lads had left the guild-room, I found 
Jack Barson all alone, lounging outside the door. It struck 
me that he didn’t look quite so happy as most of you are on 
Communion mornings; so as I stopped to speak to him I 
said, 'Well, Jack, have you got your rosary-ticket?’ Of 


170 


LANCE’S ROSE OF JOY 


course you’ll think he was a big baby : I merely tell you 
what happened. He turned his head away and began to 
cry. Mind you, he didn’t pretend; he just sobbed. It was 
some minutes before I could get at the cause of his trouble. 
What do you think it was ? ‘ Master Lance wouldn’t give 

him a ticket : ’ that was all. I thought you ought to know 
this. I’m not asking you to give him a ticket, of course. 
Probably they were all gone before he came up ? ” 

Lance again began to contemplate the toes of his clogs 
as though there was something about them that had hitherto 
escaped his notice. After an interval of silence he raised a 
troubled and an ashamed face to the priest. 

“ It was like this, Father : they were all pressing round 
me, and though I did see Jack I’m afraid I pretended not to 
— until all the tickets were gone ; and then I told him there 
were none left, which was true, but I could easily have got 
some more. If it hurt him I’m awfully sorry.” 

“ There is no doubt that it hurt him, Lance : that is the 
very word. We sometimes forget that awkward, ungainly, 
unprepossessing people are often extremely liable to be hurt. 
For, as a rule, they have so few friends.” 

“ Did you give him a ticket. Father? ” 

“ Oh, no : as Local Director I never interfere with the 
duties. of Promoters. Besides,” smiled Father Horbury, 
looking at his watch, “ I hadn’t any roses. Ah, that’s the 
bell for night studies, isn’t it? My time is up, too. And 
I’ve a message for your father from Mr. Kittleshot. Good- 
bye, Lance. God bless you ! ” 


LANCE'S ROSE OF JOY 


171 

There was no member of the Ridingdale family who of 
his own accord ever missed a moment of that delicious 
after-supper period which was known to the household as 
Slipper-time. It is impossible to say at which of the four 
seasons of the year this spacious recreation hour was most 
enjoyed. With lighted lamps and drawn curtains, with 
much music and reading aloud, nothing could exceed the 
delights of indoor Slipper-time ; on the other hand, summer 
twilight on the rose-scented lawn, with little bursts of vocal 
harmony now and again rising spontaneously, and often 
enough Lance’s rapturous treble floating to the stars, was 
a time of gladness that memory could never lose. 

To-night, however, Lance would be missing, for the first 
half-hour at least. At the end of studies he had argued the 
matter out with himself, and saw his duty quite clearly. 
In some ways it was an unpleasant duty, but he told himself 
that it had to be done. Before he slept he must see Jack 
Barson. Only once had he been in the Barson cottage, and 
he remembered it as a peculiarly unsavoury place. Now he 
came to think of it. Jack’s mother was bedridden, and her* 
husband was a man of uncertain temper and habits. Jack’s 
environment was anything but a joyous one. The song 
Lance had practised that day, and had intended as a Slip- 
per-time surprise for mother, came back to him as he 
brushed the dust from his clogs and exchanged his ink- 
stained blouse for a fresh one. Jack might certainly have 
sung, “ My spirit was sad when I was young; ” but would 
he ever be able to say that he had found “ the beauty of 


172 


LANCE’S ROSE OF JOY 


joy”? Lance was not going to pretend that he had sud- 
denly begun to like Jack Barson; but as the thought of the 
errand-boy’s joyless life began to fill his mind, the Squire’s 
son could not but grieve that he had inadvertently added 
something to its joylessness. A sound very like a stifled 
sigh escaped him as he passed into the little drawing-room 
in quest of his mother; for with Dante he might well have 
said: 


I turned me, like the child who always runs 
Thither for succor where he thrusteth most : 
And she was like the mother who her son 
Beholding . . . , with her voice 
Soothes him, and he is cheer’d. 


For i must tell her where I am going and why,” he 
thought to himself, “ so I may as well tell her everything.” 

In the little confession that he made at her knee he did 
not spare himself : but when she had given him leave to take 
Jack’s mother a big bunch of roses she said as she kissed 
him : 

‘‘ While you cut the roses, dear, I’ll go to the larder and 
see if I can find something the poor woman would like.” 

Only she did not go quite immediately, because Lance in 
his gratitude and delight detained her. 

Father Horbury really did not call that night at the 
Barson’s in the hope of seeing Lance there ; the busy priest 
looked in about eight o’clock, because he had not been able 
to come earlier. And indeed he did not .see Lance, for the 


LANCE’S ROSE OF JOY 


173 


boy was sitting with Mrs. Barson, who had a bed in the 
parlour; but Father Horbury could hear his voice. 

Jack was radiant. The white rose of joy was in his coat, 
and a Joyful Mystery ticket was in his hand. So also was 
a new rosary — one that Lance had been hoarding for 
somebody’s birthday; he had decided to give somebody 
something else. 

'' Pinned it in ’isself, Peyther, he did that,” Jack whis- 
pered with a delighted grin as he pointed to the rose and 
then jerked his thumb towards the parlour-door. “ An’ he 
shaked ’ands wi’ me.” (Father Horbury doubted if any 
Knight of the Garter had ever been rendered quite so happy 
in receiving his decoration and accolade.) “An’ he’s 
brought mother some soup and some sago and stuff. An’ 
i’ this paper there’s welly a ounce o’ bacca what he’s begged 
for dad. Dad’ll be that pleased, for he ’adn’t got a smite 
left. Mester Lance’s talkin’ to mother iver so nice.” 

Father Horbury did not try to conceal his satisfaction. 

“ I won’t disturb them now. Jack : Fll call to-morrow. 
Don’t tell Master Lance that I’ve been in.” 

That night Lance missed the music on the lawn. But 
when he turned out of the Ridingdale streets and found 
himself in the lane leading to the park, he sang himself 
home with an ecstasy that might have shamed a nightin- 
gale. 





LxVNCE’S OPPORTUNITY 


LANCE’S OPPORTUNITY. 

It was Bank Holiday, and 
on returning from church 
Lance could not but linger 
for a moment in the shrub- 
bery, and smile at the splen- 
dour of the morning. He 
had just served the half- 
past seven Mass. The sight 
of so many working-men 
and big lads asking a bless- 
ing on this August play-day 
had been very pleasing; the 
thought of all the happiness 
the lovely day held in store 
for so many toilers, was a 
delightful one. It reminded Lance of Browning’s Pippa 
Passes, portions of which — and only portions — he had 
heard read aloud the night before. Certainly “ God was 
in His Heaven, all was fight with the world.” No Rid- 
ingdale boy would squander a wavelet ” on such a day 
as this, or lose a mite of his “ twelve hours’ treasure.” 

Standing there laughing ki the face of the sun, Lance 
looked as happy and as fresh as the morning itself. 

177 



178 


LANCES OPPORTUNITY 


The August bank holiday was always reserved by the 
Ridingdale boys for the Guild matches, and quite half a 
hundred lads made the park their home on this genial 
festival. Most of them found it far more enjoyable than 
an excursion, and decidedly less costly. For, with his 
usual generosity. Colonel Ruggerson provided a very sub- 
stantial dinner, and the novelty of dining under canvas 
was in itself delightful. 

There was no lack of cricket pitches in the park, and the 
number of elevens that could be accommodated was practi- 
cally unlimited. Age and skill of course determined the 
particular team in which a boy should play, but Hilary and 
Harry, who were at the head of cricket affairs, paid par- 
ticular attention to individual prowess. 

“ Don’t you think Jack Barson ought to be in one of the 
first elevens? ” Lance had asked his brothers as they sat in 
Sniggery drawing up the lists of players. Hilary thought 
Lance was joking and told him so. 

“ Why he’s just the one chap among them who has no 
notion of handling a bat,” said Harry. 

“ I know he’s a bit of a duffer at cricket,” Lance ad- 
mitted, ‘‘ but he’s such a big chap now, it doesn’t seem fair 
to stick him in among the kids.” 

“Don’t matter much where you put him,” said Harry; 
“ he’s sure to be out for a duck.” 

Lance could not well argue the point. At football Jack 
could hold his own, but cricket required qualities that he 
did not possess. In fact Lance was only trying to ease his 


LANCE’S OPFORTUNirY 


m 


own conscience. He doubted if he ever could really like 
Jack Barson. Honestly, Lance had tried to be fair to him, 
and not without a measure of success ; but there was some- 
thing about the loutish fellow that was eminently unlikeable. 
It was not merely that he was ungainly, that he had a 
walk which resembled a double-shuffle, that he managed to 
make even a new suit of clothes look ridiculous, that both 
in form and feature he was uncomely; all these things 
might have been forgotten if he had cultivated a better 
manner. But he always looked cross and disagreeable, 
always spyoke with an irritating whine, always gave one the 
impression of a youth with a perpetual grievance. 

Yet Jack had his virtues, and in his own mind Lance 
made the most of them. His visit to Mrs. Barson had 
revealed some of them: subsequent visits discovered more. 
“ Jack was good to his mother,” the poor bed-ridden 
woman was never tired of saying, and Lance felt that such 
a colossal virtue ought to cover many minor defects. 

Moreover, it was fact to which Lance could testify that 
no boy was more regular at his duties, none more punctual 
and constant at the Guild meetings, than Barson. 

If only he’d buck up and be like other chaps ! ” Lance 
said one day to Father Horbury who was interestedly 
watching Lance’s struggle with his pet antipathy ; “ but he 
won’t. Father. He’s had the sack at two places because 
he’s so fearfully slow. And no doubt because he always 
looks so disagreeable.” 

Did you ever hear the expression ' born tired,’ Lance? ” 


i8o LANCE’S OPPORTUNITY 

asked the priest. ‘‘ It is of course sometimes used by lazy 
and worthless people as an excuse ; but there is no doubt at 
all that some poor children are born tired — for the simple 
reason that they are born with much less than the average 
strength. And how can they make it up ? You know what 
some of them live upon? You visit now and again many 
poor cottages in Ridingdale, and you know that some of 
these people live almost entirely upon bread and tea. Yet 
they do the world’s manual work. They are the very 
folk who need building up with plentiful milk and eggs and 
oatmeal, if not with meat; yet they are just the people who 
cannot get these things.” 

I ought to have thought of that, Father,” said Lance, 
to whom this way of looking at Barson was new. 

“ Small blame to you for not thinking of it, Lance. 
Time enough for you to consider these things when you’re 
older. But it won’t do you any harm to turn the matter 
over in your mind. The other day when you spoke of 
Jack as a coward, though I did not say this at the time, I 
could not help thinking that hard work and under-feeding 
do not make for physical courage. Remember too, my lad- 
die, that you come of a race of brave men : I might almost 
say, a family of heroes. You inherit the courage of more 
than six centuries of fighting folk. It makes a difference, 
Lance.” 

Much as the boy thought of these things, and generous as 
became his intentions towards Barson, Lance could not 
honestly say that he liked him any better. Jack’s little 


LANCE’S OPPORTUNITY i8i 

tricks of speech and manner remained as irritating as ever. 
His lounging gait, the way he dragged his feet, the queru- 
lousness of his voice — nay, I am afraid the very marked 
devotion that he had begun to show to Lance since the 
episode of the ticket, all seemed intolerable. 

But in Lance’s attitude there was one highly important 
difference. Determined to try and master Father Hor- 
bury’s principle that if you can’t like your enemy you must 
love him, Lance resolved to lose no opportunity of doing 
Jack a kindness. 

“ I know it sounds like a contradiction, but it is not,” 
Father Horbury said. There are some people that we 
shall never be able to like: we can always love them. Not 
of course with any feeling of affection: that is not part of 
the bargain. But you know, Lance, love is a matter of 
deeds more than of anything else. A kind word sometimes 
takes on the character of an action; but warm feelings and 
gushing sentiments are not a bit necessary to real Christian 
charity.” 

Father Horbury had advised him not to worry about the 
matter at all. Opportunities of doing kind things must 
depend upon circumstances. You can’t always create your 
opportunity. When one comes, seize it with both hands.” 

Lance thought that this August Monday might furnish 
him with an opportunity. To get*Jack placed in one of the 
first elevens, he did his very best, but though he returned to 
the subject again and again, Hilary and Harry would not 
hear of it. 


LANCES OPPORTUNITY 


182 

“ Some chance or other ’ll turn up to-day,” Lance said to 
himself as hearing the breakfast-bell ring he turned his face 
towards the house. 

There was every sign of great heat. As he walked 
through the thick grass, left uncut near the shrubbery, he 
noticed that his shining clogs were bathed in the heavy 
dew; and although it was only a little after eight, the 
sun was so strong, he was glad that he had put on a 
broad-brimmer. 

Some chance or other may turn up,” he repeated as 
at ten o’clock the boys began to arrive at the park, and the 
business of wicket-pitching began. 

But whatever opportunity might do, it seemed as though 
Jack Barson were not going to turn up. Play started at 
half-past ten, and at half-past eleven Jack had not arrived. 
Lance’s side had lost the toss, and he was bowling when the 
Hall bell rang the Angelus and for two minutes play was 
suspended, caps were doffed, and the Aves were said in 
silence. 

Lance had asked almost every boy he had come across 
for news of Barson : nobody knew anything about him ; 
nobody had seen him that day. At the end of the Angehis, 
however, Tommie Lethers ran up to Lance, and told him 
that Mrs. Barson was very ill and that Jack couldn’t come 
’cause he was minding her.” 

For a moment Lance hesitated. A good deal of timber 
had fallen to his straight, swift bowling, and he had set 
his heart upon disposing of the remaining players before 


LANCE’S OPPORTUNITY 


183 


dinner. To run away now, even for half an hour, would 
just spoil everything. Surely there was somebody he could 
send ? Anybody would go like a shot, of course, but — 
well, somehow it didn’t seem fair. He, Lance, had six 
weeks of holidays to look forward to, whereas most of 
these fellows were working lads, and they would not get 
another clear day until Christmas. 

Look here, Tommie,” said Lance quickly, you take 
my place. You’re not half a bad bowler. I shan’t be very 
long perhaps, but you just peg away and get ’em all out 
before dinner.” 

Flying across the park he stopped to look into the big 
tent where he knew his mother would be arranging the 
tables. 

” I can bike it in a quarter of an hour,” he said when 
he had briefly explained things ; “ I may go, mayn’t I, 
mummie ? ” 

“ Don’t ride too fast, darling, in this great heat,” she 
said smiling at his eagerness, “ and don’t go in shirt 
sleeves.” 

The cricket costume of the Ridingdale boys was simplic- 
ity itself. Just shirt and knickerbockers and a leathern 
strap. 

Lance struggled into his linen blouse, tied an extra knot 
in his clog laces, and ran at full speed to get his bicycle. 

His great anxiety was that Jack should not miss the 
dinner. For not only did Father Horbury’s words on un- 
der-feeding come back to him, but as he rode swiftly down 


LANCE’S OPPORTUNITY 


184 

the lane — I am afraid Mrs. Ridingdale would have thought 
the pace too fast — it occurred to him that one of the few 
occasions upon which he had seen Barson looking really 
happy was at the cricket dinner this day last year. 

He found Jack standing at the cottage door, looking more 
miserable than usual. 

I hope your mother’s not very ill,” Lance began as he 
jumped off his machine. “ Have you had the doctor? Has 
Father Horbury been?” 

She’s a good bit better now. Master Lance, thank ye. 
I thought her wa’ deein’ early this mornin’. But doctor 
says there’s no danger now. She’d had a baddish night, 
ye see : it wa’ so ’ot. She’s dozin’ a bit now.” 

They talked together in a low voice for some time. 
Father Horbury had been and was coming again. He had 
already asked Mrs. Lethers to go and sit with the invalid for 
a time. 

“ In that case. Jack, you’d better skin off to the park. 
I’ll wait here till Mrs. Lethers comes. If you go now you’ll 
be in capital time for dinner. And then if your mother goes 
on all right, and Mrs. Lethers comes, you needn’t hurry 
back home. And I can bring you word how your mother 
is.” 

‘'But what’ll you do. Master Lance? You’ll miss your 
dinner,” objected Jack in such a doleful whisper that Lance 
had some difficulty in not laughing aloud. 

“ Fm all right,” he declared. “ If I were at home I 
should be helping the waiters, you know, while you chaps 


LANCETS OPPORTUNITY 


185 


are dining. We get our dinner when you’re finished. So I 
may just as well wait here. Put your coat on, Jack, and be 
off.” 

Jack’s face cleared a little. His desire for dinner was 
strong; at the same time, he scarcely liked to leave his 
mother. 

“ Seems ’ardly reet,” he was beginning when Lance tip- 
toed into the house and began to look round for Jack’s coat 
and cap. Returning with them he literally thrust them 
upon the youth. 

Tell me what to give your mother if she should wake up 
before Mrs. Lethers comes ? ” Lance demanded. 

“ There’s some barley-water *^on t’ table, and Father 
’Orbury sent some beef-tea, what I’ve kept warm in t’ 
oven.” 

“ That’s all right, then,” said Lance. “ I won’t stir a 
step till Mrs. Lethers comes. So now you skedaddle.” 

Jack smiled, and went off at his usual pace; which, 
however, he quickened as he got into the lane. Lance 
moved softly indoors and looked round. He hoped Mrs. 
Lethers would not be very long. The living-room was 
decidedly hot and smelly. Very gently he pushed open the 
parlour-door. The sick woman was sleeping quite com- 
fortably. He wondered where her husband was. As a 
matter of fact, he was “ helping ” at the Ridingdale Arms. 

Mrs. Lethers was not long in arriving. Great was her 
amazement at finding Lance in possession, and many were 
the blessings she showered upon him. She was going to 


i86 


LANCETS OPPORTUNITY 


Spend the day here, she assured him, and he noticed that 
she had not come empty-handed. He was to tell Jack not 
to come home till night. She had seen Dr. Nuttlebig and 
everything was going well. 

Dinner had begun when Lance reached home, looking 
very hot and happy. He was ready to help the waiters, 
he said, but Mrs. Ridingdale made him sit down at once. 

“How did the match go, Tommie?” Lance inquired 
eagerly as he took his seat. 

“ All out for 43, Master Lance,” grinned the delighted 
Tommie. 

“Spiffing!” exclaimed Lance, just as William Lethers, 
who was waiting, placed before him a big plateful of veal 
and ham. 

“ You may say that, sir,” said William, thinking of the 
pie he had just brought. 

“ William,” said Father Horbury bringing up the lemon- 
ade and beginning to fill Lance’s tumbler, “ have you ever 
noticed that when Master Lance gets an opportunity — of 
taking up knife and fork, for instance — he seizes it with 
both hands? ” 

William laughed as though he understood the joke; but 
he did not. Lance tried to hide his blushes by swallowing 
some lemonade : he understood. 


LANCE’S DIFFICULTY 









LANCE’S DIFFICULTY. 


Summer seemed de- 
termined not to pass 
with the ending of 
the holidays : the 
September afternoon 
was warm and sweet. 

The roses were per- 
haps less , numerous 
than they had been 
in July, yet a stran- 
ger taking his first look over the lawn of Ridingdale Hall 
would have thought that they had just reached their prime. 
The air was still charged with their scent, mingled with a 
faint suggestion of ripening fruit ; not far ofif were rich ap- 
ples, golden pears, and the perfumed globes of melons.” 

Mrs. Ridingdale had carried her work to the lawn, seat- 
ing herself closely to Snuggery. A heap of boys’ stockings' 
lay in the basket beside her; in the distance the boys them- 
selves were doing something desperate with brooms, wheel- 
barrows, and a handcart — apparently tidying up the big 
lawn. 

It was the last day of the holidays, and, smiling at the 

189 



190 


LANCE'S DIFFICULTY 


thought, Mrs. Ridingdale asked herself if she were really 
quite glad that school began again on the morrow. She 
could not feel by any means sure that she was not as sorry 
as were the boys themselves. Very soon she would have to 
say good-bye to her eldest born, for the big staid Hilary 
was going to Oxford. He would be a great loss, and she 
doubted if Harry were quite the boy to take his place in the 
household. Happily, now that all the older lads went daily 
to the new Catholic High School there was not the same 
necessity for what they called a “ boss.” Harry was bright 
and lovable enough, she knew, and substantially very good; 
but then he always seemed to look upon life as a huge joke 
— even the big portion of it that he spent in school. He 
ought to have been named Hilary, his master said ; and cer- 
tainly whenever Harry appeared on the scene there was 
plentiful hilarity. 

An immense clatter of tools, the bump of a handcart, the 
creak of a wheel-barrow, and a sudden rush of clogged feet 
in the direction of the kitchen-garden made Mrs. Ridingdale 
aware of the completion of the tidying-up. She knew that 
her boys were going to spend the afternoon on the river. 
Her husband sometimes called her the Mother of the Water- 
Babies, and she was proud of the title. 

“ Oh, mother, what a shame ! ” 

Lance was wheeling back an empty barrow, but halted 
when seeing his mother. 

“ I thought you had all gone to the river, dear? ” 

“ Yes, mother, they’ve started and I’m going directly 


LANCE’S DIFFICULTY 


191 


but I promised Jane I'd bring this barrow back before I 
went. She wants it after tea.” 

‘‘ And what are you calling a shame, my darling ? ” 

Why, those stockings, mammie. Fancy having to darn 
stockings on an afternoon like this ! ” 

“ Fancy six boys marching into school to-morrow without 
stockings! ” laughed Mrs. Ridingdale. 

“ Well, for the last six weeks we’ve hardly worn them at 
all, have we? Of course we’ve almost lived on the river. 
And then it’s been so delightfully hot. I put them on this 
afternoon because, mother, I want to go and see Mrs. Bar- 
son after tea — if I may ? ” 

‘‘ Certainly, dear : I am glad you are going.” 

“ I ought to have gone before,” he said a little shame- 
facedly. “ I’ve put it off to the very last night of the 
holidays. You know, mother. I’m afraid I don’t particularly 
want to go. Of course I’m sorry for her, and all that ; but I 
really don’t enjoy going, and I always feel a bit of a humbug 
when I do go. Don’t suppose it’ll count as a what-do-you- 
call-it.” 

You mean as a corporal work of mercy, Fannie? ” 

'' Yes, mother,” he said, making a seat of the wheel- 
barrow and clasping one knee. 

“Why shouldn’t it, dear? You make your Morning 
Offering, don’t you? ” 

“ Oh, of course. Fact I make it twice. Father Hor- 
bury recommended us to say it after the twelve o’clock 
Angehis” 


192 


LANCES DIFFICULTY 


“ Well, clear, if we always waited to do kind things until 
we felt a pleasure in the doing of them, we should often 
have to wait a very long time. In fact, many of the kind 



acts would never be done at all. But I know what you 
mean, my darling. It costs you an effort to go to Barson’s 
and I don t wonder at it. When the only woman in a, 


LANCE’S DIFFICULTY 


193 


house is bedridden, the place is apt to be neglected. I am 
not sure that I like going there. But don’t you think, dear, 
that the more a task costs one the greater merit we are 
likely to get for it ? ” 

“•Ye-es,” said Lance, a little doubtfully, “ I suppose so — 
if we do it properly.” 

“ What do you mean by properly, dear ? ” 

“ I think I mean, willingly and — well, cheerfully.” 

But I don’t think you go sulkily; in fact I know you 
don't. Mrs. Barson told me only last week that you always 
cheer her up and make her quite happy.” 

“ Well, that’s just it, mother,” he said with a deep blush. 

It’s just that that makes me feel a humbug. I pretend to 
be awfully jolly, and I don’t feel it a bit. And it’s just the 
same when I talk to Jack. I pretend to be very friendly 
and chummy and all that; but you just don’t know, mother, 
how delighted I am to get away from him.” 

Mother smiled silently for a moment as she took up a 
fresh stocking. Lance’s difficulty was one of those common 
and obvious ones that cannot always be answered in a 
word. 

My darling,” she began at length, there are times 
when we must pretend, and there are people with whom 
we must pretend. There is no actual want of honesty or 
straightforwardness in a little effort of that kind. Perhaps 
you don’t remember, dear, that in a sermon Father Horbury 
gave us a month or two ago he told us that there were two 
ways of telling us the truth — a brutal way and a kindly one. 


194 


LANCETS DIFFICULTY 


And he reminded us that though the Greeks were pagans 
they chose the kindly way. Some Christians, he said, 
preferred the brutal way. Do you remember, dear ? ” 

Yes, mother, I do: George and I spoke to him about 
it afterwards, and he said that he might have mentioned 
a third way, only he thought it was almost the same as the 
Greek one. And then he quoted a bit of Horace — some- 
thing about telling the truth laughingly. George looked it 
up afterwards, and Harry was so pleased that he wrote it 
out and stuck it on the wall in Sniggery — in Latin, ^ 
mother.” 

Mrs. Ridingdale was much amused. 

That is so like Harry," she said. He at any rate will 
always tell the truth laughingly. And you, my darling, 
will always tell it pleasantly enough. Don’t think that when 
a man smiles and smiles, as Hamlet puts it, that he is always 
and necessarily a villain. It sometimes costs us a big effort 
to be genial. Well, if we are genial, or if we make the effort 
to be so, don’t you see, dear, it is a proof that we have at 
any rate the wilftmd intention to be kind? And, after all, 
it is just the intention that matters — isn’t it? ” 

“Yes, I think I see what you mean, mother.” 

“ And then, when the intention is put into action, the 
good deed is really done. For instance: last Bank Holiday 
when my boy broke off his bowling to go to look for young 
Barson — yes, dearest, I heard all about it afterwards, 
though I have not praised you to your face — I know you 

^ Ridentem dicere verum quid vetat? (Sat. i.) What prevents us 
from telling the truth with a smile. 


LANCE’S DIFFICULTY 


195 


did not like going. The point is that you really did go, and 
Jack did not miss the dinner. I don’t suppose he thanked 
you very eloquently or gracefully, but he told Mrs. Lethers 
when he got home that ‘ if he lived to be as old as Confuse- 
lem he’d never forget your kindness ! ’ ” 

“ I knew he was grateful, mother, though he didn’t say 
much. He wants to come up once a week and clean my 
bike. I told him he might — when his mother got better. 
You see, as he’s the only one he has to do all the cleaning 
at home.” 

“ Quite right, dear. And then my boy mustn’t forget 
that every one of these little goodnesses makes mother very 
happy.” 

‘‘ To please you, mammie. I’d go to Barson’s every day 
if I could,” he said as he stooped to kiss her. 

“ I know you would, darling. And don’t you see that it 
is just love that helps people to do all sorts of hard things? ” 
For instance,” he said, '' darning stockings for hours 
together.” 

“ That’s not so very hard,” she laughed. '' But I was 
thinking of the terribly difficult things the saints did. They 
did them just to please — ^ their Father” 

He was silent for a moment. 

“ But, mammie, you never seem to have any fun,” he 
said at length. 

‘‘ I have something very much better, my darling,” she 
said brightly. “ I have a boy who loves me so much that he 
will do hard things in order to please me — and others.” 



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